A Season Apart
by UmbraTsuki
Summary: A season consists of three months. Judy and Nick found themselves separated for three months. In their season of separation, how much could have happened? (This takes place between their "breakup scene" (as named by the directors) at the press conference and then the apology scene under the bridge.)
1. Signs

_Signs. The new season starts by mingling with the former one, injecting some of its signs to life and letting its coming be known. No one day marks the switch. It progresses. It's a slow switch. Beginning with a few signs._

The first time that Nick's absence really dawned on Judy as a permanent-or-otherwise-long-term-thing probably didn't happen until about a week in. She had been doing a fairly impressive job of keeping herself occupied (and distracted from most negative thoughts) since the press conference, as she frequently picked up extra shifts and stayed past her hours.

And that all came to a crashing end when Chief Bogo assigned Judy to respond to a call from some desperate mammal in the center of downtown, someone who wanted to file a complaint about a "predator disturbing the peace." Before she arrived at the specified address, though, she found herself right next to Jumbeaux's Café. That was a bit of a blow. The timing wasn't right, and she knew _he_ wouldn't be there this early (it was 8AM, and he'd already disclosed his preference for night over mornings). But she thought she'd step in anyway.

Judy was pleased to see the workers had gloved their trunks. She was _not_ pleased to see the obnoxious "NO PREDATORS" sign hanging above the register.

Immediately, she wracked her brain, looking for any possible violation. Her nose twitched as she called to mind the many laws and codes she memorized during her training. Despite his little "right to refuse" sign, she knew there were certain laws against species-based discrimination. She knew, too, that sometimes prey were excused.

But Jumbeaux noticed her before she could think of anything else. "Well, look at that. The famous bunny cop." His tone seemed sarcastic, of course, and his words spoken to no one in particular. Only a few customers were in this early, and most had already taken a seat.

"Sir," Judy gave one nod before stepping closer. "I know this isn't the first time you've seen me, and you _probably_ don't want to hear this, but you're going to have to take down that sign."

The elephant looked up at the sign Judy gestured to and then let out a sharp, forced laugh. More like a huff. "I _know_ you saw _this_ sign," he moved it into her view, "last time, and I reserve that right still. No - predators - in - my - shop." He spoke slowly and exaggerated each word as if he were explaining something to a child. Except with a dose of bad mood. What was it with this guy, anyway?

"It's a violation of the Species Protection Act." Judy took a deep breath before continuing. He may be another member if the prey family, but Jumbeaux certainly made himself intimidating. "Places of public service are _not_ allowed to refuse service based on species. And, as I'm sure you're aware—"

"I'm aware that predators are a _class_ , not a species," Jumbeaux protested. "And that means I'm protected. It's for the safety of my customers."

"With all due respect, again, sir, what you're doing is discriminating against any species _within_ the predator family," Judy said. Her nose twitched as she began to feel a bit nervous. Because of the wording of the clause, he was technically correct. And prey always seemed to get away with it when they claimed that safety or comfort motivated their refusal of service. But if Judy had to stretch things, she'd do it. "Predators don't come in here looking to hurt anyone, they come in here looking for _dessert_." Her paws moved as she spoke. "It didn't hurt you to serve a predator last time I was here."

"Hey, do you _know_ how many complaints I received that day?" Jumbeaux's trunk curled and uncurled, maybe as his means of fidgeting. Or frustration. His ears came forward as he leaned onto the counter in front of him. "Those predators hurt my business. I don't need them around here."

"The predators would be _giving_ you business, if you'd let them!" Judy's foot began to tap rapidly on the ground when she paused. She began to turn, looking for help. "Right, Ni—"

No. No Nick.

Judy let out a huff and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned back to the counter, glancing between the sign and Jumbeaux. "You're unfair. Most predators are less than half your size!" Okay, the size card could be risky, but she had to go for it. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Look, bunny, just because you would serve any bloodthirsty predator does _not_ mean I will," Jumbeaux said. "And you can't make me. Now, I have customers, so if you're not one, I'm busy."

In her concentration on the situation at hand, she'd failed to notice the line forming behind her. That threw her off, for sure. Why hadn't she heard them come in? Or smell the outside air when the door opened? Or even feel the ground move a bit (as some of these animals took powerful steps)?

"I—.. will be back tomorrow," Judy declared. She knew she probably wouldn't, but the officer wasn't about to let Jumbeaux think he had the upper hand. "Serve your customers." Right before turning around and exiting, she gave a sharp, "good day."

Great, now she was even sounding like Nick.

Was it really going to throw her off this much that he left? The fact that she didn't know a _line_ of animals had formed _scared_ her. Did she really get that caught up in trying to defend predators? What if it happened again? Judy wondered if... well, she'd been doing fine until that moment. So perhaps it wasn't her reflexes, but maybe that particular setting. But at the thought of this happening a second time, the hair on her neck stood on end, and chills rushed through her body.

No. She's Judy Hopps. First bunny on the Zootopia Police Force. The one who found 14 missing mammals and saved the evidence (with Nick, granted, but... she would have found another way somehow, right?). The one who, despite what criticisms other mammals threw her way, stuck with her dream and became a police officer.

She would be fine.


	2. Absence

_With the coming of a new season, the loss of the former may leave a longing behind. The mammal might long for the former temperatures, scenery, or sometimes, even loved ones._

The cold steel of the muzzle against his snout felt harsh, accusatory. _You're terrible._ It said. _You're dangerous. No one can trust you._

He tried to pull it off, but this time, it stuck as if it were glued to his skin and fur. His breaths quickened and became strained, and his heart rate skyrocketed. Short breaths. Chest heavy, and he could feel moisture building up in his paws as sweat developed. His ears folded backwards, closing out some sounds and making him more vulnerable. The fox knelt on the ground, surrounded in nothing but darkness. Nothing else was processing, nothing but the touch of the metal and the panic building in his system. Maybe his lungs were on fire. Was something squeezing his heart? He felt like death. Not just as if he were dying, but as if death claimed him to be its successor. Somehow. Again, Nick tried to rip the contraption from his face, but his body trembled too much for him to take a solid grip. Shit. No breath. Headache... not just headache, his brain felt _gone_. Was _he_ even there?

This had happened before. Nick felt this before.

He caught a glimpse of gray and white fur as a small mammal scuttled into the edge of his field of vision. Though he hardly had enough control over his body to do so, he turned his head to look. A bunny. Not just any. What was the name?

"I could use a partner."

Hopps. Judy Hopps. ZPD. He remembered.

His paws momentarily stopping in place on his face, still grabbing at the muzzle, he realized his fur was also covered in tears. Figures. Couldn't breathe, still, but it was easier to forget about when he saw the bunny. Until he remembered. This bunny. Pretended to believe in him, and then... then. Changed. He learned that she was the same as everyone else, just as opinionated about predators and foxes as other mammals. Nick opened his mouth to try to say something, but it felt dry, and he could barely mutter a word. "Leave."

The bunny wouldn't leave. She suddenly appeared closer. He closed his eyes. _Leave._

Finally, Nick woke up.

Though his pulse remained quick and his paws just as sweaty, he was okay. The muzzle didn't exist. Just a dream. A nightmare.

Deep breaths. This wasn't the first time he'd woken up unsettled by a nightmare, not even that particular one. Except..

The Judy thing was new.

Ten days had passed since that fun little press-conference. Maybe less? Give or take a few days, perhaps. He hadn't been entirely _there_ lately. Nick's concept of time had been thrown off (maybe from being awake for nearly 48 hours straight?), and after his hustles with Finnick, he didn't generally have the energy or compliance to eat much. Or do much of anything other than retreat to his spot under a bridge (nice, shady, and solitary) and "relax." This usually involved fiddling a bit with the carrot pen he still had, tying-untying-retying his handkerchief around his paw, contemplating going to a cafe for a coffee. And plenty of naps.

In fact, he wasn't sure he had slept as much as he had been lately in _years_.

He'd have an easier time counting his waking hours than his hours asleep. And interaction with other mammals? He could hardly remember. Schemes with Finnick, those involved talking to mammals. Acting. Though he never gave a fake name and had all the legal necessities, he didn't _truly_ have to be himself to pull off his hustles. Be a dad, be a lumber worker, be whatever. A trickster. Nothing about himself really ever was revealed.

Except, with Judy he didn't act. At the beginning, yes, but once she saw the truth, why bother? And other than Finnick, most mammals never caught him off-guard, in-the-act the way she did. He both despised and admired her for that. And the fact that she outsmarted him many times in a span of, what? Less than a couple days? She impressed the biggest crime boss in Tundra Town, on top of that, and saved his life. Twice, counting the fact that Mr. Big only let them go because she apparently saved his daughter's life. If he weren't so stubborn about protecting his ego and cocky attitude, Nick would _probably_ be able to admit at least a little bit of jealousy for the rabbit.

Even Finnick commented on the situation at some point in the recent week (probably a few days prior). He'd said, "Nick, she really did hustle you, huh? Even got you all jealous over her. C'mon, dude. She's a damn _bunny_. Probably just lucky 'cause of her rabbit feet or somethin'."

"I don't think that's quite how it works," Nick had said. He crossed his arms, staring down at the tiny-yet-older fox. "Are you serious right now? Because I _really_ am not just here to joke around about what happened." He rubbed the base of his muzzle, close to the space between his eyes, in frustration. "I trusted her, and it turned out she's like _everyone_ else out here. You think that's just a _joke_?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who's bein' gullible," Finnick snorted. "I could've told you that, Nick. Everyone's the same. You're a _fox_. That's how thin's work."

"So you can just accept things like that?"

"Huh," Finnick's face grew a bit more serious. "She really did change you, Nick. 'M surprised to hear _you_ of all people bein' the one to tell me the world's not okay. It's how it's always been. If you want to pine over a departed bunny cop, I ain't stoppin' you. But don't let it affect our hustles."

Nick hated him. Sometimes. He wasn't _always_ so unbearable, but he liked to be impossibly annoying during the times that he was. Because his words had too much truth to them. It was Nick's fault that he let himself believe a bunny so much. Wasn't it? It must be, he thought before, but at the same time, this was Judy. The bunny that proved an entire city wrong about the preconceived notion that a bunny couldn't be a cop. The bunny that proved an experienced buffalo chief wrong because she solved not only Emmitt Otterton's case, but the entire set of 14 missing mammal cases in one go. And what was it she mentioned offhand before? She wrote 200 parking tickets by noon, after being challenged to write 100 for the whole _day_? Sure, the tickets thing was a little harsh on mammals of Zootopia, but the count was nonetheless impressive.

Judy shocked him. She caught the fox off guard (many times), and her positivity had let him see a little of the better side of the world.

Until she left, and the glimpse of light left with her.


	3. Pondering

_In the dawn of a new season, a mammal may realize they have a lot to think about. Both in regards to the past and to the future._

"You had the help of a _what_?"

When Judy's parents found out that she hadn't solved Zootopia's missing mammal cases alone, that didn't affect their pride in their daughter's accomplishment. Finding out that the helper had been exactly the type of mammal they had warned her about prior to her departure shocked them, however. They worried a lot about their little bunny being on the police force, and her dad, especially, feared her being harmed by a predator. A fox in particular.

"A fox, Dad," Judy confirmed. "A kind, harmless fox." She could tell her dad didn't agree with her at all, and her mother spoke up before he would say anything else.

"Well, we're glad he did help you," she said. She appeared to consider her next words carefully. "But couldn't you have gotten someone else to help? We did warn you about foxes."

"That's right, Judy," her dad nodded eagerly. "He could have been tricking you."

"But he didn't." Judy momentarily thought of their first encounter but decided it didn't count. He'd proven himself kind and reliable afterward. She thought of the confrontation with Chief Bogo in the rainforest district. Drawing in a deep breath and leaning back in her chair, Judy continued. "He saved me from losing my job. I couldn't have done it without him."

The two looked at each other before her mom spoke again. "Well, what about now? Is he still helping you?"

Images of the press conference flashed in her mind. "No, we kind of..." Judy didn't know how to explain. "He actually—"

"I knew it!" Judy's dad held a finger up, leaning into the screen. "He just wanted his fame and left, didn't he? That sounds _exactly_ like a fox!"

" _No_ , dad, I—"

"Now, no need to be ashamed, Jude," he continued. "That's what foxes do. You couldn't help it. Foxes are sneaky, after all, that's what they're known for."

Judy cringed. Her ears fell, as she wasn't sure how to get through to her dad. Or if he'd even listen. "Dad, he wasn't even in the reports," she shifted in her seat, leaning forward onto her desk. "You need to understand. Foxes _aren't_ how you think they are."

"Well then, why would he just disappear?" Judy's dad crossed his arms, and her mother looked back and forth between him and the screen.

Taking a deep breath, Judy tried to explain. "I _hurt_ him, dad." Her words came quivering out, but he needed to understand, somehow. "The fox repellent didn't help. It—"

"You used it?" Judy's dad looked hopeful, for a moment, until he saw her shake her head. "Well, how in heaven's name could you _hurt_ a fox?"

"Dad, I need to go," she let out a sigh, not wanting to continue attempting to explain. Maybe later. "I love you both."

"Well, we love you, Judy," her mother gave a soft smile. Seemed a bit sad, but perhaps Judy was imagining that. "Talk to you soon, okay?"

"Yeah, we'll call you tomorrow," Judy's dad gave a little salute by bringing his paw to his head and away. "Love you!"

They ended the call first, like usual, and Judy let out a heavy sigh, flopping her head down onto her arms on the desk. Yes, she had gotten help from a fox. And yes, her parents would probably hold that against her for a while. Somehow. Even if nothing bad had come of it (at least, not anything harmful to Judy), she could read her parents' surprise and slight disappointment at her disregard for their advice. At the time, Judy didn't have any choice but to ask a fox for help, and now, he would be the first one she would _want_ help from.

Now that it's too late, of course.

She wondered: what would she have done to solve the case otherwise? Asking around everywhere, of course, would have been her first attempt. Contemplating that for a moment, the bunny wondered if that would have successfully provided her a lead. Surely _someone_ other than Nick would have had some kind of information about Mr. Otterton. It was that yak from the... well, naturalist club (she still shuddered at the thought of the place) that had given her the first big lead, so couldn't she be fine from there? Maybe she'd have a bit of trouble getting the plate run, but Judy would have figured out a way to track down the car somehow.

Judy was fine.

But that didn't mean she wanted him gone.

It had been two weeks now since the press conference, and the bunny hadn't caught a single glimpse of the fox. That didn't necessarily affect her, but being honest, she felt a bit disappointed. He knew where to find her (considering that he knew she worked with the ZPD), while she knew he could be anywhere. Not exactly easy to find, especially if she hoped to stay on task.

She was upset, but at the very least, she managed to avoid falling ignorant of her surroundings the way she had back at Jumbeaux's Café. Most of her assignments lately involved simple matters, such as monitoring traffic or responding to citizens' calls. There were a few robberies and break-ins, but nothing incredibly serious.

Other than more mammals going savage. At least one a day. Chief Bogo seemed gracious enough not to have her pursue those, though. Not yet.

And she was grateful for that. Did she want to be a real cop? Yes, of course she did. Did she want reminders of her terrible fight with Nick Wilde? No, no she did not. She hoped to keep it that way, too—no reminders.

Judy had hurt her friend. She knew that. She'd also created a ripple of anti-predator activity, it seemed.

And her duty as a police officer did not include inducing prejudice against certain mammals. At some point, somehow, she needed to fix this. But she wasn't ready.

She didn't know how to be.


	4. Frustration

_Because of the transition between seasons, mammals may find it easy to become frustrated. Change is hard, after all._

"Uh. Shit."

In the time period following the press conference, Nick found it becoming easier and easier to make little mistakes in his hustling.

Making mistakes was, of course, unavoidable every once in a while. When he was a rookie, he made mistakes more often than he'd like to admit. Though his skills weren't getting quite that bad, Nick slipped up often enough for Finnick to notice. That could be expected, as Finnick had been partnering with Nick for quite some time. His slip-ups didn't get bad enough to threaten a scheme, however, until a little over a couple weeks past the savage case's conclusion.

"So you _are_ trying to trick me," said the leopard in front of Nick. The fox was attempting to sell the pawnshop owner a "deer fur" rug (made of 100% deer shedded fur, he'd claimed, yet the fur was actually... well, probably a mix of various animals that Nick wouldn't know of because he didn't make the rug). His claim against false advertising would be that the product was actually "dear," beloved fur. Except he slipped up on both the source and the cost because he had been thinking too much of Judy and Bunnyburrow and the fourteen formerly missing mammals.

"No, no, no, I simply misspoke," Nick shook his head, but the complete distrust on the leopard's face was _not_ reassuring. As his grip on the stroller beside him tightened (only one paw was on it, while the other rested on the counter), he took a deep breath to try to clear his mind and reset himself. "This is not from Bunnyburrow. It was made in Tundra Town. And its worth in dollars _far_ exceeds fourteen" He kept his voice level and cool, trying to evade any extra suspicion. In truth, the rug was probably not worth even that much, but the shop owner had advertised that she would buy deer fur rugs for a high price. "I was thinking of a different one that had cost fourteen dollars. My mistake."

The leopard raised an eyebrow and examined the rug a bit more. She sniffed it, as well. "Doesn't exactly smell like deer. Is this opossum? _Ferret_ , even?" Setting the rug down, she looked up at Nick again. "And from Tundra Town. I haven't heard of any rugmakers there."

"Well, have you heard of any in Bunnyburrow?" Nick lifted his arms in a shrug. "The scents are off because it's been passed around from mammal to mammal."

"Hmm." The leopard contemplated this for a few moments. "You are selling because you saw my ad?"

"Colleague did, yes," the fox nodded. The rug had actually come from Mr. Big, who agreed to provide occasional work to Nick as long as he got a share of the money. "Now, please. I don't know how much longer my baby will be asleep, and I need the money for his food."

The conversation continued in a similar fashion of trying to appeal to the shop owner's emotions, reassure her that he wasn't lying, and dodge any details that might come off as sketchy. In the end, he managed to leave the shop with a hundred and twenty five dollars in pocket.

And when they were alone to the point that Nick could give Finnick his share of the money, the fennec wouldn't let him hear the end of his missteps.

" _Bunnyburrow_?" Finnick had his paws on his hips after tucking the money away. "Man, forget 'bout that bunny. She's not worth 'ny trouble. You gotta get outta that hustle you're still trapped in." The smaller fox often commented like that, saying that she'd somehow got him hustled more than his twenty years of hustling put together, or something like that. He seemed to think Judy was on Nick's mind every moment of the day. He was only half wrong.

Nick would never admit that kind of thing to him, though. "She didn't hustle me, Finnick," Nick said in a flat tone. "We solved a case together. That is all."

"And that's why you thinkin' 'bout burrows you haven' even visited?" A small chuckle escaped Finnick's muzzle. "Man, she got you good. So good you're in de _ni_ al. You ever gonna get back t' normal, Nick?"

"I _am_ normal," Nick commented while glaring at his hustling partner. "One hundred percent. Now, you have your money, so are you done bothering me?"

That got another chuckle. "Whatever, Nick." He turned to climb into his van and stuck the key in the ignition. Instead of any kind of goodbye, Finnick left with words of advice. "Do better t'morrow. Can't afford to lose money."

Nick let out a rough sigh and thought about his work from the past couple weeks. He hated it, he _hated_ it, that Finnick was right, to some extent. That bunny did _something_. And Nick hated that, too. That Judy had given him a glimpse of hope, a good long look at hope and the world's merits, and then she shattered that nearly as quickly as it came. And yet. She made him hold on to the hope, still.

And Nick hated that.


	5. Unease

_Past the layer of frustration, uncertainty approaches. Mammals must use careful discernment in making their choices._

More savage cases. More frequently. More mammals.

More victims.

Not the prey, no. Most of the savage cases didn't end in prey being harmed. But the predators were victims. The savage predators, yes, they were dangerous, but Judy saw that they weren't the only ones being treated as such. Prey didn't want to go near predators on the train, predators found fear directed at them anywhere they went, and other than Gazelle and her peaceful protestors, not many mammals were doing anything against the whole thing.

And Judy had noticed these things, but it hadn't hit so hard until she found that even predator _children_ faced distrust.

"I cahn' finduh my mahmahh," blubbered a small wolf pup, probably no older than seven or eight years. Despite the pup's clear lack of any harmful intention, young prey were being ushered away from the wolf, and older prey would pretend nothing was going on. That the pup wasn't even there.

"Okay, it's okay," Judy knelt down to look the pup in the face... or at least attempt to, though the pup's paws had it covered. "We'll find your mama. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Mhmm," the pup nodded vigorously, paws lowering. The sobbing began slowing down, allowing the pup to say a bit more. "I los' her — _sniff_ — by the train st-station."

"Okay, train station. It's alright," Judy assured the pup, as she slid her ZPD radio from her belt. "Officer Hopps here. I've got a missing wolf pup. Reportedly lost by the train station. Mom might be looking."

The awkward part was the fact that, due to her size, Judy wasn't a whole lot larger than the pup in front of her. On the bright side, however, the pup still looked at her like she had adult authority. That didn't always happen.

"Will we find her?" The pup seemed much calmer, only sniffling a bit and speaking with a much steadier voice.

"Yes, we will find her," Judy nodded. She took the pup's paw, which was pretty big in hers, and helped the pup stand up. "Let's go to the station, okay? I bet she's looking for you. We'll find her, and you can go home soon. Sound good?"

With another sniffle, the pup nodded, allowing Judy to lead the way. They actually weren't very far from the station, only perhaps a quarter mile away, so the pup must not have wandered far before breaking down. Or perhaps the prey around had pushed the pup into it, considering how inhumane they all seemed. And Judy couldn't believe it. How would anyone turn a cold shoulder to a crying _child_?

A rather slender-framed, but long-haired, gray wolf stood talking to the zebra attending the station when Judy and the pup arrived. The wolf appeared worried and stressed, and it took less than a second for the pup to confirm her role of mother. When the pup's mother came into view, the pup let out an excited squeak.

"Mama!"

" _Oh_ ," the mother wolf had hardly heard her pup's approach before the child had already jumped into her arms, and she held her baby close. Relief overtaking her face, the wolf knelt to the ground and nuzzled into her pup's fur. " _There_ you are."

The wolves seemed not to say very much, but Judy assumed they had some kind of body communication between wolves, the same way her own mother always understood how she and her siblings felt based on their posture or energy levels. It seemed an amazing thing that her mother was able to do, and Judy wondered if she'd ever be in the position herself. She couldn't imagine it.

Before the bunny could turn to get back to the ZPD, where she had formerly been heading to get her next assignment, the wolf mother spoke up to catch her attention.

"You found my baby, didn't you? Thank you, off—" A look of recognition crossed the wolf's face for a moment. Her eyes narrowed a slight bit, unless Judy was imagining that. "Hopps. You solved that case, too, didn't you? With the savage animals. But then—" Glancing back at her child, the mother shook her head. "No. Thank you for finding my baby. I appreciate it."

At the mention of the savage case, Judy cringed for a moment. She wasn't surprised that more predators than Nick would have been bitter about her comments on the matter. "Of course, ma'am," Judy nodded. "I'm glad I could help. I'm... sorry for the trouble."

Though she wasn't sure if the wolf would understand what she meant, that she meant to apologize for the downward spiral of the treatment predators received from prey in the past few weeks, Judy hoped the wolf _could_ understand. Even if she didn't, the mother nodded and said a final, "thank you."

As Judy left, all she could feel was guilty for the way the predators were being treated. Is this how it had always been? Was she only noticing it more now because of Nick? Or...did she cause this? She couldn't tell, and she almost didn't want to know. Her stomach churned at the thought of attitudes toward predators growing any worse.

Was it too late to make things better, again?

She wanted to. Desperately, she wanted to go back, go back to the harmony that predator and prey seemed to relish before, the harmony that Judy had always _dreamed_ of living in, within the city where anyone could be anything. Her biggest dream had always been to come here. To come here and serve as a police officer, to make the world even better than it already was.

This certainly gave her the opportunity, but Judy didn't see a way to reverse the negative thinking she'd injected into this city.

Offhand, the bunny wondered if maybe Nick would know how.

But she couldn't ask.


	6. Dilemma

_With the frustration and unease intertwining, a mammal may begin to feel overwhelmed by the new season's challenges._

The metal felt different this time.

Rather than hard and cold, it felt hot and molded into his skin, as if it planned on melting the features from his face and creating an indistinguishable mess of fur and steel. An ugly mess, a painful mess, a searing, burning mess. Nick's claws ached to pry the straps from his face, but the attempts only magnified the pain.

"So things _do_ get to you," came the inevitable voice of Judy Hopps. The fox's body went numb at the words and froze at the entrance of the bunny into his field of vision. "Poor fox."

The two were in the sky tram car once again, yet this time, broad daylight fell upon them, and rather than the Rainforest District, the view below held vague glimpses of predators being forced into muzzles of their own. Nick didn't know what would have been worse: the dream putting the scenes below into focus, or the dream pushing Judy Hopps, ZPD officer, to the forefront.

It chose the latter, and the fox cringed when he felt the soft contact of the rabbit's paw on his arm. Soft, gentle, too gentle, contrasting with the throbbing headache that overwhelmed him. He couldn't think straight, could hardly move to get away, and the smaller animal pressed her paws to the sides of his face.

"Poor fox," came the same words, the contact both soothing and burning him in the same moment.

 _Get away_ , he wanted to shout. His throat felt far too dry, and his head in far too much pain, and he was sure his facial expression reflected that. The bunny didn't seem to notice, however.

Suddenly, a refreshing flood of water rushed over his head—jolting the fox awake.

The water had been real. Finnick stood overhead, atop the bridge Nick had been napping beside.

"Sorry," said the fennec, voice heavy with sarcasm. "C'mon, sleeping that deeply? Somethin' must be wrong. Where you been?"

Nick kept his mouth shut and stared up at his business partner. He actually hadn't seen Finnick in a few days, having taken a short hiatus from his hustles. Without notice. No wonder the smaller fox had come looking for him. But...

"Is it _really_ so hard to find another way to wake me?" Nick shot a glare at the other before taking his sunglasses in one paw and shaking the water from his fur. Unconsciously, his other paw touched the front pocket where he kept his old bandana (and now, Judy's carrot pen). Everything seemed fine. It didn't mean he wanted Finnick around, though. "I'm busy. Go away."

"Ouch, Nick, I'm hurt," came the reply. Not genuine at all, however. Finnick held a pawpsicle that seemed to be melting more than anything. "We gotta go, man. Lemmings dudes 've been missin' their pawpsicles. I've been missin' my money. Gotta get back in there."

"Look, why don't you just go to Mr. Big for help? Save yourself a load of trouble. I'm not going anywhere." Laying back in his seat for emphasis, Nick returned his sunglasses to his face and folded his paws behind his head. "I'm just fine here."

"You sulkin', Nick," Finnick shook his head. "No good. You got t' get back. Gonna lose your hustlin' skill, 't this rate."

Underneath the veil of his shades, Nick rolled his eyes. "Hey, it's a compliment that you miss me, really, but I'm _enjoying_ my vacation."

The fennec continued to speak, but Nick tuned him out until he finally left. Then Nick finally got peace and quiet, able to relax.

But as much as he hated it, again, he always hated it, Finnick's words had truth laced into them. He needed to get back out there. Keep hustling. Sell pawpsicles or get more mammals to fall for other ploys, whatever he came up with for the day. Nick Wilde, after all, harbored some of the highest level of hustling skill of any other mammal on the streets. He couldn't let that diminish, couldn't let that change.

He found it hard, though. The more he slipped up while carrying out a plan, the more he knew he needed time away to clear his mind. But then, nothing seemed to be helping, either. Nightmares kept haunting him, and intrusive thoughts never loosened their grip during waking hours.

Plus, there was the carrot pen. The horrible thing that... he should have just stolen it from the very beginning. He'd had plenty of chances. The bunny didn't always seem on guard around him, and swiping up a pen? That would have been easy.

His mistake. He'd taken too much interest in the bunny right off, wanting to see her struggle and maybe fail. Until she didn't, until she charmed him instead, until he wanted to see her _succeed_. And she did, they did, and everything had been as close to perfect as Nick had seen it in _years_.

Until it wasn't. And he hated her.

But he didn't.

Couldn't.

He was a mess.


	7. Trials

_The season still fairly fresh, new encounters continue to try the mammal's abilities. Despite the difficulty, the trials make the mammal stronger._

"I will explain this to you two _one_ more time."

The very concerned-parent-bunny faces stared back at her in her phone screen. Judy had made many attempts to explain her very safe partnership with Nick to her parents, yet they (mostly her dad) continued to question it, wondering what details she'd left out and how a fox could _possibly_ , truly be as trustworthy as their daughter claimed. It tested her patience, and Judy wondered if they ever _would_ understand that predators, even foxes, weren't as bad as they thought. It seemed next to impossible to change their minds, but Judy wasn't one to give up because of that.

Inhaling deeply, Judy mentally braced herself for the inevitable comments of opposition before beginning what may have been the tenth retelling of her story.

"I found out that Nick, the fox, knew the missing mammal who I had no other leads on finding," Judy began. Okay, maybe she really did skimp on _some_ details. Her parents didn't need to hear about the naturalist club, for example, which Judy didn't even want to think about in the first place. "He led me to a mammal who happened to see Emmett Otterton leave in a white limousine. Because the yak knew the license plate number, but I couldn't run a plate yet, Nick helped me track down the vehicle as well." Big exhale. Her parents (or dad, rather) would usually butt in around here, so she continued before they'd get the chance. "We found the driver, Mr. Manchas. He went savage, like Otterton, but Police Chief Bogo did not believe that when I explained to him my need for backup. Nick stopped him from taking my badge, we found the missing mammals, and I got to keep my job."

Okay. Maybe Judy left out a _lot_ of details. But nothing that changed who Nick was in her story: her friend.

"I still don't see it, Jude," her dad shook his head. He shared a glance with Judy's mother before continuing. "That fox must have thought he'd get some reward. I know I would, if I were given a chance to help an officer on a case."

" _Stu_ ," Judy's mother scolded him. With a soft sigh, she turned her gaze from her husband back to the camera. "Judy, you know it's a ... pretty big deal for us. Foxes are a bit..."

"Dangerous," Judy's dad concluded, and her mom solemnly nodded.

"Well, you've got it all wrong," Judy countered. "It was a _long_ time ago that foxes were a threat to us. They _aren't_ now. Predators are safe, kind. They don't want to harm us."

"Yeah, that's what they want you to think," said her dad. "Until they go savage on you, right? Like that otter. Who would have suspected him?"

"Oh, Stu, stop it," Judy's mom put her paw on his shoulder. "They don't mean to go savage, do they, Judy?"

"They don't," Judy confirmed. "They can't help it. It's..."

"In their DNA, isn't it?" Staring at the camera, Judy's dad firmly spoke, repeating the words he probably heard on a news casting of Judy's press conference, at some point. This time, Judy's mom didn't step in to say anything, leaving Judy to respond.

"Dad, that's.." she let out a deep sigh. "It might be related, but that doesn't mean it's the cause. We don't know _what_ caused those predators to go savage."

Judy's dad shook his head. "But you know it's possible. I still don't believe that fox is up to any good."

"Dad, just give foxes a chance," Judy pleaded. "It's not like you think."

"Stu, Judy may be right on this one," Judy's mom looked at him, her ears lowered a bit. "It's... scary, I know, but do you really think our daughter would lie to us? For carrot's sake, she did make it on to the police force."

Judy's dad went quiet. He pursed his lips, perhaps thinking carefully over the conversation. Softly, Judy let out a sigh, one she hoped was quiet enough to go unnoticed. Sure, her parents frustrated her to no end when they took so long to see her side of things (kind of like when she had to convince them to let her attend the police academy in the first place), but she loved them. Nothing would change that. Her parents, as irritating and small-minded as they could be, were her two favorite bunnies in the world. And as much as they frustrated her, she didn't want them to think she'd be mad at them.

"At least try, please, Dad?" Judy spoke in a soft voice that couldn't be anything but genuine. "It would mean a lot to me."

After exhaling a heavy sigh, Judy's dad eventually nodded. "I can try. I'll give you that."

"Thank you," Judy said, finally feeling a smile tug at the corners of her lips. "I love you both, you know that, right?"

"And we love you, too." Judy's mom smiled back, and eventually her dad did as well. "We'll call you again tomorrow night, okay, sweetheart?"

"Love you, Jude the Dude," Judy's dad winked at her. "Use those cop skills to catch some good dreams, okay?"

Judy laughed a bit, finally feeling the mood lighten. She hated things getting so tense with her parents. "Will do. Good night, you two. I love you."

With her routine parent conversation out of the way, Judy got ready for bed and curled up beneath her blankets. The fact that her parents didn't seem very concerned about the lack of new information about Nick did bother her a bit. The first time she'd mentioned that Nick disappeared, it had only been a week or two, but now almost an entire month had passed. Wouldn't they expect to hear more about the fox, by now?

And Judy only wished she had more to tell. Maybe if she did, it would be easier to get them to see how wonderful a fox could be, too.

Instead, the wonderful fox was mad at her, perhaps hated her, and Judy felt way more alone than she had when she experienced that first failure night in Zootopia, her second night there overall.

More alone than she ever had.

But she was getting through to her parents, slowly. That meant something, right? Even with the amount of difficulty they gave her, Judy managed to get some kind of shift to happen. She hoped that meant good things for her current solitude, too.

That perhaps she could find her way out of this ditch, as well.

She needed it.


	8. Plans

_The mammal, in light of recent progress, may create plans to help the rest of the season run as smoothly as possible. Of course, plans are often foiled._

"I've got this," Nick assured, gesturing downward with his paws in hopes that his shorter business partner, who had just convinced him to get back on top of things within the past week, would _calm down_. The fennec still had his doubts about Nick's work ability due to the recent mess, and he would get on Nick's nerves as frequently as possible. Apparently the smaller fox had no faith. Ouch. "Let's go."

The two entered an ice cream parlor, this time an establishment run by the Spotsons, a family of giraffes. Nick found it intriguing that the family worked together so well, considering the stress that running a business entailed. In his case, he doubted he'd be able to handle _actually_ being related to Finnick.

Nonetheless, the Spotsons had exactly what Nick needed: a giant, strawberry flavored popsicle. Perfect for melting — or _crafting_ , rather — into many, miniature-sized _paw_ psicles. Usually more popular than Jumbeaux's, too. Probably because the family didn't emit grumpy atmosphere into their product.

Unfortunately, the giraffes weren't any less afraid and suspicious of foxes than any other prey mammal, even if they were far friendlier than some. With the number of savage predators on the rise, things only got increasingly difficult.

Putting on his friendliest face and sparking in the kindest tone he could muster, Nick approached the counter while pushing the Finnick-carrying stroller in front of him. "Could we get one Merry Berry Pop, please?" He had both paws folded on the handle bar of the stroller. Finnick acted "sleepy" during this routine, pretending to nod off in the carriage while Nick charmed whoever it was they were ordering from. In this case, it was the son of the Spotson family.

"Uh..." the young giraffe looked frightened and tense, and he clearly didn't want to take the foxes' order. Instead of responding, he turned to the taller giraffe at the other register. "Dad? Should I..." He gestured with both front hooves at the foxes in front of him.

The father, Mr. Fred Spotson, looked from his son to the foxes and back again. "I'll handle it. Go ahead and help this young lady."

The two giraffes switched registers, and Nick wrapped his paws around the handle of the stroller, gripping it quite a bit tighter than he normally did. Mr. Spotson raised an eyebrow at the foxes and bent his neck downward to speak to them.

"Listen," he began, glancing at his son who was now busy counting out change. "I don't know what funny business you're up to here, but if you dare harm my son—"

" _Sir_ , I would do no such thing," Nick promised. "Cross my heart. You see, I'm here to buy a popsicle for my own son." He motioned at Finnick, who was pretending to be curled asleep. "Father-to-father, you've got my word. I'd just like the popsicle."

"You think I'd really believe that your son would eat the entire popsicle?" The giraffe held clear suspicion in his mind as his gaze danced between the larger fox and the fennec. "Wouldn't a different shop suit you more? These are popsicles designed for _large_ mammals. Neither of you are more than, what, a couple feet?"

"Twice that, actually," Nick said. Finnick kicked the back of the stroller in his "sleep," reminding Nick that he _probably_ should be keeping away from snarky remarks. Sighing deeply, Nick tried to backtrack. "Sorry. Sir, I don't want any trouble. You know when your little boy wants something so bad that you feel guilty not getting it?

Mr. Spotson rolled his eyes. "And you're telling me that—" he gestured at the stroller — "tiny fox wants an oversized popsicle that badly?"

"Yes, sir, he does."

At this point, the giraffe appeared uneager to bother with a continued argument. "Fine. Ten dollars."

* * *

It all almost went smoothly. Almost. Until the two foxes were gathering up the last of the melted popsicle juice and an unfortunately familiar giraffe voice entered the vicinity of their work.

Nick had just been thinking of the last time he'd worked on melting down a popsicle. That time, Judy had caught him. Confronted him after. Tried to pin him down as guilty for something illegal. His train of thought became interrupted by an intrusive shout.

"You— you two were in our shop, weren't you?!" The voice belonged to the young Spotson from whom Nick had first attempted to order. Nick froze in place, and Finnick looked absolutely mortified. He'd probably kill Nick, later. The giraffe continued, "was _that_ the popsicle we sold you?"

"Okay, listen," Nick started, having absolutely no idea how he'd navigate his way out of this one. "Let's just... pretend nothing is going on here, shall we? We'll just be right on our way, and you—"

"I'll make sure you never get a popsicle from us again is what _I'll_ do," the Spotson finished. Nick cringed. He knew Finnick would give him hell for this. "Is this what our popsicles are good for? Some dumb _science experiment_?"

"Look, I don't know what this looks like to you," Nick responded, an eyebrow raised at the science experiment comment. "But I'm willing to bet that it's not what you think. I paid for the popsicle, fair and square, and we _kind of_ have somewhere we've got to be. So if you would be kind enough to excuse us..."

"Oh, do whatever you want," the giraffe crossed his arms as he spoke. "But we aren't selling you another popsicle. Dad's not going to like this. Or you. He already didn't."

After a few more rounds of fake apologies and firm disapproval, the giraffe finally left and Nick was able to take a breather in the privacy of Finnick's van. Well. Until the smaller fox got in and took the opportunity to chew him out.

"You're s'posed to be on lookout, Nick," Finnick spat. "Could y' mess up some more? Don't think we're in quite enough shit, man. Might need more trouble."

Nick sighed. "It won't happen again."

"Y'sure? 'Cause you said you had this, too, 'n' looks like you didn't."

"I messed up. I'll learn from it." Nick folded his arms across his chest and glared at the smaller fox, who sat in the driver's seat glaring back. "Let it go."

"Gotta do better, man. 'S all I'm gonna say."

Finnick was right, again. Nick needed better focus, better management of the hustles. Less distraction. Less sidetracking. Less thinking about certain bunnies.

More focus.


	9. Learning

_A month into the season, the mammal has begun learning of the life this season harbors. The learning process helps the mammal regain some control over their life, but the process itself can be slow._

"That's not my Emmitt."

Judy looked over at Mrs. Otterton, who had her eyes locked on the mammal across the glass— Emmitt Otterton, her husband. The otter's behavior made it pretty clear why Mrs. Otterton would say such a thing. He'd gone savage, remained savage, remained enclosed in the Cliffside Asylum where he circled a pole to which he'd been tethered. This kept him from jumping at the window, a request actually made by Mrs. Otterton herself in case her children ever visited. They hadn't (she hadn't let them, yet), but she preferred that, the bit of extra distance, over her normally sweet husband's face snarling at her.

That wasn't the first time she'd said the same words, that this wasn't "her Emmitt," that her "Emmitt wouldn't ever act aggressive like this." Judy wouldn't blame her. She had no husband of her own, of course, but imagining any of her siblings acting with even an ounce of similarity came with way too much difficulty. Maybe because they were bunnies, but still, the scenario was impossible to imagine. Even regarding otters, she'd never have been able to think of the same visuals it she hadn't seen it right in front of her.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Otterton," Judy tugged at the hem of her vest as she spoke, unable to rid herself of shame, even if she had no control over Mrs. Otterton's situation. Her ears fell downward, as if they hoped to sink into the ground with her heart. "Truly. If there's _anything_ I can do..."

"Oh, Officer," Mrs. Otterton shook her head. "You've been too kind. I just want my Emmitt back," she slowly turned from Judy back to her husband. "I want him home. That's all I can ask for, really. And at this rate..." Mrs. Otterton's eyes were cast downward, like she couldn't keep them on Emmitt for too long at a time. Seeing him the way he was took too much of her energy. "You've done so much, and I'm grateful. I just don't know what more anyone can do."

"We'll figure something out," Judy countered, placing her paw on the otter's shoulder. "I mean... The doctors. The rehab crew... They're all doing their best. I'm sure they'll find something." She couldn't be sure, not truly, but Judy didn't want to imagine the otter remaining savage. There's no way, right? "In time. He'll come back."

"The boys ask about him," Mrs. Otterton's voice trembled. "They ask, 'when will daddy come home?' I wanted to avoid telling them about _this_ ," she gestured to the enclosure in front of them, "but news gets around. Even to children. But... How can I just tell them I don't have the answers?" Mrs. Otterton looked up at Judy, eyes wide and heavy with tears. Without a sound, a couple drops slid down the otter's fur. "How can I tell them that he's not any better?" Her voice broke with her next words. "That he's not really there?"

And Judy's heart broke, too. That the children looked to their mother for answers she couldn't provide. Answers to questions filtered up to Judy, questions to which the bunny could hardly handle not having answers. And never could she ever understand how much harder things were for Mrs. Otterton. To have to face her children without answers. To Judy, the otter was a citizen, nearly a stranger. And the bunny could hardly take _this_ much.

"Mrs. Otterton..." Judy began, not yet knowing what she would say. What she _could_ say. Her words came out slowly because she had to think while she spoke. "It must be much harder than anything I can imagine. But I promise you... I promise that everyone will do their best to get your Emmitt back to you. I will do anything I can, and I'll see to it that everyone does everything they can, to get your Emmitt back. You have my word."

Though it was small, Judy thought she saw a hint of hope return to the otter's eyes. "Bless you, again, bless you, little bunny," Mrs. Otterton took Judy's paws in hers as she gave her thanks. "I know I can count on you.

* * *

 **Judy: Mom, dad. I love you both.  
Dad: We love you. Everything alright?**

 _Nothing,_ Judy wanted to reply. She couldn't tell them that, but she felt it. Nothing was alright. A month ago, she'd partnered with a fox, only to ruin her friendship with him and send all predators deeper into the "untrustworthy" group in society. Not something official, like anything ever was, but an unspoken group Judy began to notice after living there for that month. Not everything was like she'd thought, Nick was right. But the bunny couldn't help but feel she'd forced life's hand in some of that. At least for the current state of things.

As for the savage predators she found, what good did she do if she'd only brought bad news back? Not much.

But the same way Mrs. Otterton couldn't answer her childrens' questions, Judy didn't think she could answer her dad with the truth.

 **Judy: Yeah, same old, same old. I'm finishing up some paperwork right now, so I'll talk to you tonight :)**

Judy rarely lied to her parents. They never gave her the impression that she couldn't trust them, and she knew that the two of them would always, always love her. No matter what happened, they didn't let her forget it. Having a couple hundred kids _probably_ taught them a thing or two about being good parents.

But as much as she trusted them, Judy didn't feel ready to disappoint them with what was really going on. They didn't expect a "no," no one did, when they asked a question like that. The way Judy was learning how to deal with the situation as it was, Judy knew she needed to learn how to break bad news to the most important mammals in her life.

And that would take more time.


	10. Connections

_Connections both with other mammals and between learned lessons help a mammal continue improving and refining their path for the season._

When the skunk-butt rug incident had occurred, Nick had vowed that he'd never cross paths with Mr. Big again. He never had expected to be dragged back into the crime boss's grasp, much less by a _rabbit_ , and he certainly didn't think he'd be working with the man again. But once that first strange encounter took place, he found himself in much better favor with the Big family.

The favor was mostly for the rabbit, however, and only conditional for the fox himself.

"You know, if Judy were here, I bet _she'd_ help me name my baby." Fru-Fru, the Big's daughter, rubbed one paw on her belly while appearing deep in thought. Her other paw held a little Mousy's handbag. After a few moments, she looked up at Nick, who was sipping a small cup of tea. "Nick, where _is_ she? Is Judy okay?"

"How would I know?" Nick shrugged and took a sip from his cup. "And who cares? Whatever happens to her? That's _her_ problem. Not mine."

"How _dare_ you!" The soon-to-be-mother shrieked and slapped Nick's wrist ( _hard_ ) with her handbag, forcing him to drop his tea. "You take that back _right_ now!" The shrew put her paws on her hips and glared at the fox.

Nick put his paws in the air in a lazy manner, holding them up no higher than muzzle-level. "Hey, hey, hey, it's not _my_ fault." Rubbing at his wrist, Nick looked down at the spilled tea near his feet. He'd been enjoying that tea. "She's the one who—"

"Oh, you've told us the a _hundred_ times," the shrew responded, waving her paws in the air to disregard the excuse. She almost looked as if she were pouting before she turned to look at Mr. Big for support. "Right, Daddy? That bunny deserves our respect."

The older shrew was silent for a moment before he nodded and spoke. "For the great favor she did for us, I am indebted to her." Shocking, coming from a criminal, really. "Nicky, must you act so cold? She must've trusted you, too."

 _Yeah_ ," Fru-Fru firmly agreed, setting her paws on her hips once again and leaning in to glare daggers directly into Nick's soul. Or so it seemed.

The fox let out a sigh. "Sorry." His voice made the word come out flat, and it neither sounded nor felt sincere. He didn't need it to. He wasn't sorry. "Anyway, I would... _really_ appreciate any task you might have. Working has been more difficult, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Mr. Big raised an eyebrow but turned toward his body guards in the room. "Raymond, my friend, please gather the tasks we'd set aside." The shrew returned his gaze to the fox once the polar bear left. "You better _thank_ that bunny. Weren't for her, I wouldn't do this." He pointed at Nick's face as he spoke, accenting every word. "Don't test me."

The shrew was far too intimidating for Nick to argue with, but the fox absolutely never thought he'd hear words like _that_ from the boss's mouth. Words about thanking a bunny, at least. He hated risking any conflict with Mr. Big, considering how quickly he'd be turned into a fox-sicle if he got on the guy's bad side. But being expected to maintain connections with a traitorous bunny cop had to have been the highest expectation the shrew had forced upon him.

Choosing not to respond, since the fox doubted he could say anything honest that wouldn't make the situation worse, Nick shifted his gaze around the room, noticing the things that appeared to have remained the same for _years_. Other than Grandmama's portrait. He did miss her, that sweet little shrew.

It wasn't until Fru-Fru spoke up again that Nick broke out of his distraction-seeking trance. "I still need a name for her!" The shrew was looking down at her belly with distress evident on her face. "She can't just _not_ have a name!"

"Don't worry, baby, she will have a name," Mr. Big assured her. "You've still got, uh, what, quite a few months left, right?"

Fru-Fru giggled a little. "Yes, Lorraine said I have four months left," she said, pride carried in her voice. "I've always wanted a little girl! Do you think I'll get a girl?"

At that moment, Raymond returned to the room and dropped a parcel onto the desk at the center, stalling the conversation for the moment.

"Ah, _perfect_ ," Mr. Big rubbed his paws together before standing up from his chair, for once, and stepping down from Koslov's paws to inspect the package. The shrew opened a flap to peek inside, nodded in approval, and shut the package. "Your next task, Nicky. Same as with the rug, that deer rug." Clearing his throat as he made his way back to his chair, he continued. "Figure out a way to sell 'em."

Nick nodded and took the package from the desk. He didn't bother to look inside, yet, but he knew it would be more things to sell. Just like the last one, and like some of the work he'd done with Mr. Big before the big incident. His connection with the shrew had always been odd, some strange accomplice-slash-henchman plus boss-slash-family kind of tie. It seemed the mobster, with all the businesses he ran, always had things needing to be done, and Nick was never short on work when he was helping the shrew. He hoped it would help him make up for the increased hustling difficulty.

In addition, he needed it to get his mind off of things. "Things" being that dumb bunny whose name kept popping up in newspapers, whose pictures were plastered onto magazine coverse, whose recent "solved mystery" still buzzed as talk of the town with each missing mammal case appearing. Nick couldn't stand it, but taking the bunny from his mind proved impossible. The bunny, the clever bunny, the—

Judy Hopps. He wished she really _was_ just another, vague face in the bunny crowd. But that would never be the case, not after the dash of friendship she'd shown him.

"I'll let you know when I've finished," Nick promised. "Same percentages?"

The shrew nodded. Normally, Mr. Big would get half of any money Nick earned from his tasks. Nick's portion would be less than half, since he'd normally have to split his half with Finnick or something. Luckily, the arctic shrew had plenty of high-value tasks in his arsenal.

"But bring Judy back!" Fru-Fru practically begged. "I need her help!"

Nick shook his head with a sigh before turning toward the doors. Over his shoulder, he responded to the young shrew's request. "If you love her that much, just name the baby after her."

He didn't bother staying for a response.


	11. Review

_Inevitably, a mammal must pause and reflect on the season so far, making any necessary adjustments for the rest of the season to remain smooth._

The cacaphonic mess of her clock alarm and phone alarm going off at once made Judy groan. They'd effectively woken her from her hour-or-so nap of the night, just as planned, but felt like they drove daggers into her ears in the process. Too little sleep and too little time before she needed to get on the train to work.

Despite being recently appointed as an officer and still holding the Police Academy's training fresh in her mind, Judy had spent the night brushing up on her knowledge of the laws... Particularly the laws pertaining to discrimination. Things such as the APA, or Anti Prejudice Act, and the EHA, or Equal Housing Act. She wanted to overturn every stone, and memorize it front and back, so she could remain prepared when approaching prejudiced mammals who wanted to make life harder for predators. The catch was that laws are complicated and forced Judy to spend the entire night going over them to etch their details into her mind. It reminded her of her days at the Academy, really.

Even amidst the sleep deprivation, the bunny made it to the train, and to the ZPD Station, just in time for work. She trudged through the front doors, her body feeling much stiffer than usual. Before she even began to approach Clawhauser's desk to greet him, as she usually did, the cheetah was shouting and waving her over.

"Officer Hopps!" Clawhauser's arms flailed everywhere, and sprinkles fell all over his desk from a doughnut he held in one paw. Judy had approached the desk quickly enough that the secretary lowered his voice a bit. "No need to go to the bull pen, today. Chief Bogo actually wanted me to give you your assignment here. Saves time, he said."

"Okay..." Judy tilted her head. "Go on."

The cheetah spoke quickly, as if he had no time to deliver this most important news in the world. "So you know about Gazelle, right, sweetest singer of Zootopia and beautiful hooved role-model? Of course, we talked about her just last week! Well, she's holding some peace protests, and _boy_ am I jealous!" Clawhauser finally stopped to take a breath. "Chief wants you to monitor the protest and make sure things don't get violent. Protect Gazelle, especially, he noted. His orders! The protest actually staaaarts... any minute now, so he wanted me to tell you right away! Gazelle may be known for her music, but she's got _such_ a good heart!"

Judy wanted to feel the same excitement about the matter that Clawhauser exhibited, but the abruptness of the task caught her off-guard. She definitely hadn't expected an assignment like that, and she questioned why Bogo would feel that she, the one who caused this mess, was the best choice for the job. Unless he wanted to rub the results in her face. Ouch.

"Okay," Judy nodded. "Where's the protest?" She wanted also to ask why they hadn't just called to give her that assignment, if it held that much urgency, but perhaps it was policy for assignments to be given in person. With a sigh, Judy decided that she needed to silence her doubts. "Are you _sure_ Bogo wanted me on the case? Not someone like Fangmeyer or McHorn?"

"Naw, too intimidating," the cheetah waved off the notion while stuffing his doughnut into his mouth. With his mouth full (which Judy had to admit grossed her out a bit), he continued. "Bogo wanded you becauve the prey loog up do you." He finally took a moment to swallow when he realized that wasn't really working. "Now, the protest is being held in Savanna Central, of course, near The Palm. I'll just write down the address for you here," he scribbled quickly on a sticky note, "and there you go!"

Taking the note in her paw, Judy smiled at the cheetah. "Thanks, Clawhauser. You're the best!"

"Now, now, Officer Hopps," the cheetah shook his head. "Not true. But you let me know how the protest goes, mmmkay?"

"Will do, Clawhauser." As she turned around, Judy waved over her shoulder to the friendly officer. "Take care!"

* * *

To say the least, the protest exhausted her. To say the most would take hours and some good convincing to get Judy to mentally relive the whole thing.

At the protest, Judy heard so many of the misspoken words she'd used in the press conference. But spoken with intent at the protest, spoken against Gazelle and the mammals she'd rallied together. Spoken against predators. And knowing that so many of them heard it from her directly, through the live broadcast ... Judy began to realize the extent of what she'd done. That her little speech reached so many mammals that it was irreversible. And it affected so many...

She'd felt a pang in her chest every time she heard a mammal mimic her words to attack at another mammal. Usually the predators, but sometimes they went at the prey for being "too blind to danger," and stuff like that. Her reactions felt smaller as the protest went on, but perhaps only because she got used to the horrible sensation.

And she felt worse knowing that she'd inflicted at least twice as much pain on someone she'd considered a friend.

All of the shouts at the protest, all of the aggressive comments, reminded her of the huge mistake she made. She'd never regretted a moment so immediately until the press conference had happened.

But if the mammals could be so easily convinced by her words at the press conference, surely there was a way to convince them otherwise, too, right? Judy didn't plan to give up, and she knew she'd figure out a solution with enough work.

Learn. Amend. Keep going.

She just needed to figure out how to get the amend part right.


	12. Improvement

_After reviewing and reflecting, a mammal can make great improvements for the season. Even with the inevitable new challenges, the mammal can better handle themself._

Each moment of the hustle made his heart rate jump just a bit higher and his potential success gain just a bit more excitement. Usually, even at the very last moment, he'd find himself slipping up in some way, risking failure of the scheme. So far so good. Each mistake punched him in the gut, when it took place. Each moment that successfully passed increased the disappointment that would hit when the mistake came. If the mistake came.

So far so good, and Nick felt elated. And when he successfully sealed off the final deal of the scheme and counted out Finnick's share of money, he knew he was in the clear.

"Aaaand _finally_ ," Nick sighed with relief, the pressure that had built up in his chest finally releasing its grip. "A smooth hustle. It's about time."

"'Bout time is _right_ ," Finnick agreed while stuffing his pay into his pocket. He reached into the cooler in the back of his van and grabbed a pawpsicle. "Was beginning t' think you lost your skill."

"Well, now I'm offended," Nick replied. Taking a pawpsicle as well, he shook his head. "I'd shape up sooner or later. Can't keep in top condition all the time."

"It'd be easier if you didn' fall for some _rabbit_." Finnick bit a small chunk out of his treat. "Look 't that," he pointed his popsicle toward Nick's pocket, "that pen. No point in carryin' that thing 'round." Biting another piece, the small fox paused for a moment. "Y' gotta forget. Throw that away. 'S no use."

"Neither are broken records," Nick commented, crossing his arms without even a taste of the pawpsicle, yet. "But you're well on your way to becoming one."

Finnick held his paws up, shrugging and shaking his head. "Hey, jus' sayin'." He took another bite, still small enough that most of the pawpsicle remained. "Think it over, Nick. Or you're gonna start t' regret things real soon."

"She saved my life, you know." Nick tried not to remember that too much, tried not to care, but that never had been possible. Admitting that to Finnick had not been part of his plan, however, and the fox made a mental note to stop letting his guard down about the whole bunny thing.

"You kiddin'? She saved her case." Finnick chuckled a bit, somehow amused by the situation. "Weren't for you, she'd 've lost her job, right? You said that before."

"Did I?" Nick licked at his pawpsicle, then took a small bite as well. "Yes, she was a mess. You saw her, coming to a _fox_ for help? But she had a strong enough lead before any of _that_ happened."

"Must've only wanted t' repay you," Finnick shrugged. He bit into his pawpsicle again, almost halfway through now. Sure took his sweet time. "Think 'bout it, Nick."

What if he was right?

That Judy had it all laid out as an elaborate act to getting his help. Taking advantage of him. It would certainly explain the sudden twist, wouldn't it?

Maybe he never really understood the bunny at all.

* * *

When did Junior Ranger initiation turn into a press conference?

A group of mammals stood at the podium. Those rangers. Grown up, now. "You can't trust a fox without a muzzle," they said. "It's in their DNA."

He couldn't see, but someone threw a muzzle over him. Tight. Tight, tight, it threatened to cut through his skin, pierce his veins, tear him apart. Nick struggled with the straps, scratching at them, but they tightened. And more straps. There were more. More.

"You're even dumber than you look," laughed the scouts. They surrounded him now, closing in on the fox. "Awww, is he gonna cry?"

And he wanted to run, he wanted to fight, he wanted to move. His body wanted to crumble, froze in place instead of cooperating. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't get his ears to move from their flattened position on his head; his tail to move from between his legs. On his knees, Nick crouched and avoided looking at the threatening prey surrounding him.

And another voice cut in.

"They're reverting back to their primitive, savage ways." The Junior Rangers were gone now, and Officer Judy Hopps took the podium. "But don't worry about Nick," she seemed proud; her chest puffed out as she spoke. "That fox right there? He's not like them."

As it did the first time, Nick's blood boiled and paws clenched into fists. The muzzle had disappeared, at some point, and he could finally speak.

"You're right, Fluff." He stood up, looking the bunny directly in the face over the crowd of people " _I_ see who you really are."


	13. Symbols

_As things progress, mid-season symbols may develop so that the season may be better remembered in the future._

When the armadillo apartment manager left a basket of blueberries on Judy's doorstep, the bunny wondered what could have possible invited the kind act.

She was stressed out, yes, perhaps more than the kind armadillo had previously seen. Most nights, the bunny came in at an hour or two past midnight, only to wake up a few hours later for more work. She did nap frequently, but the exhaustion was beginning to seep through, causing dazed mannerisms and strained focus. The bunny had improved on her management of the whole post-savage-case situation, but the obstacles began to catch up with her.

She thought she may have lost her mind when she kept seeing blueberry designs everywhere. On shirts, bags, posters. Never before, even and _especially_ in Bunnyburrow, had she seen so much blueberry hype. Mammals liked blueberries, sure, who didn't? Blueberries provided the juiciest snacking solutions while being _healthy_ at the same time! The shops in Bunnyburrow would have some fruit-themed articles, but never did one particular fruit dominate sales the way blueberries appeared to be taking over now.

The strangest aspect of the whole blueberry ordeal occurred to Judy when she realized that she didn't start seeing this blueberry surge until after the press conference. Granted, she'd only spent a few days in Zootopia _at all_ prior to that day. This prompted the bunny to consult Clawhauser about whether products in the big city normally had this much fruit plastered all over them.

"Blueberries?" The cheetah asked, cheeks full with a few bites of a maple doughnut he was quickly making his way through. A finger on his chin as he chewed, Clawhauser appeared to be giving this a moment of careful thought. He swallowed his mouthful before continuing to speak. "Can't say I've seen them too often. The doughnut shop a couple streets down did always have _delicious_ blueberry cake doughnuts... But I haven't seen them much elsewhere."

"Huh," Judy lifted an eyebrow, but she knew the established officer would know far more about Zootopia's goods than she did. No doubt. "So this is the first that blueberries have been popping up so much?"

"Well, yeah," he nodded, a cheek held in one paw while he leaned on the front desk onto both elbows. He nibbled at a corner of his doughnut. "There may have been something like this a few years back; usually it's something seasonal. But this one was pretty recent." His tail curled upward, flipping from one side to another a few times. "Why do you ask? Just curious?"

"Yeah," Judy nodded as she spoke. "It's just strange, you know?" Not to mention that on her _very_ first day on the force, she _thought_ she'd seen a certain sly fox snag and eat a few blueberries from a fruit cart on the street. Leaving that out, however, probably served her best. None of the ZPD officers appeared to particularly like foxes. "I've never thought much about blueberries. I mean, I've grown them, but now they're _everywhere_. Some of my siblings were the ones who—"

"Whoa, back up," Clawhauser stuffed the remaining bites of pastry in his mouth and held his now-free (but crumb-covered) paw up. "You grew blueberries? Like, live ones?"

The bunny resisted rolling her eyes. "Yes, I grew blueberries." She could have sworn that had come up in conversation before. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Ooh, well..." The cheetah pulled out a Mountain Doe soda he'd been hiding behind the desk and took a sip. "I don't remember. I'm so sorry. But that's _so_ cool! Will you bring some in, some time?"

This got a laugh out of Judy. "Sure thing," she smiled. "Anyway, guess I better get to Bogo before he thinks I'm late or something." He wouldn't, she was still early, but she didn't want to be _less_ early than usual. "See you in a bit."

"Anytime," the cheetah grinned. "Don't forget about the blueberries!"

* * *

Since Bogo appeared to have noticed Judy's exhaustion from the excess work of late, her assignment for the day ended up only involving examining security footage from a few stores in the area. The goal? Catch and take screenshots of shoplifting mammals. None of the footage was live, just recordings from some stores that found they had a strange number of items missing, so they had requested assistance in monitoring all of the footage. They sure had a lot. Judy guessed they didn't keep track of their stock very often.

Though she hated to admit it, the bunny found herself doodling a bit on a spare sticky note pad (it happened to have blueberries on it, but this hardly registered in her mind) while examining the tapes. This urged her to think of her favorite carrot pen, and of the fact that said pen was still (as far as she knew) in the paws of a particular blueberry-loving fox.

She didn't plan it, none of it was conscious, but she noticed she'd begun writing words on the note pad, alongside her carrot and smiley-face doodles. Or rather, two words: "I'm sorry."

As soon as the officer realized what she was writing, she crumpled the sheet of paper and tossed it into the nearest waste basket with a groan, forcing herself to focus her eyes only on the security footage from then on. But focusing her eyes did not help her focus her mind, and she found her thoughts wandering toward other things. (Those other things being pawpsicle-hustling foxes.)

It seemed crazy. The whole thing.

She wondered if there ever could be a way for her to apologize to the fox. For hurting him. For gaining his trust and throwing it away. For asking him to join her, for giving him that hope, before shoving his feelings aside. For everything.

Judy had begun getting better at focusing on nothing but her job, and at forgetting as much of the press conference ordeal as possible. But now, doing idle work and with blueberries on her mind, the bunny found that the fox was all she could think of.

Or perhaps not the fox, necessarily. But the way she'd treated him.

He didn't deserve that. Sure, he wasn't exactly a model citizen or model mammal (he _did_ lie and trick her when they first met, after all), but he hadn't been a _bad_ mammal. He hadn't been an _animal_. Not the way Judy was, with the animal-like way she garnered flat, small-minded thinking and opened a rift that seemed only to grow and grow since she'd planted it. Nick had helped her out, despite his complaints, and Judy kept her job thanks to him. Nick had nothing out of it, except maybe more undeserved prejudice.

Her stomach churned. This was not what she'd imagined when she envisioned becoming a police officer.

So if anyone could be anything, and anyone could do anything, then why couldn't Judy fix this?


	14. Celebration

_With the symbols often comes a form of celebration in honor of the season. Sometimes mammals would rather avoid celebration altogether, however, not entirely fond of things._

Once in a blue moon, or perhaps a _tad_ more often, Finnick would be willing to go out and have a drink or two with Nick. Thanks to Nick's recent improvement, this was one of those rare, lucky times. The red fox felt he needed it, and the Fennec was probably just glad for an excuse to make someone else pay for his drink. (Nick _had_ offered, after all.)

"And a toast to the most charming fox on the streets," Nick said, holding up his glass of some kind of berry flavored mixed drink. He didn't care to know the details of what the drink contained, as long as it was delicious. "Plus his small sidekick."

Finnick snorted. "Says you." He gulped down a bit of his rum straight out of the bottle. "Weren't for me, you'd still be under that bridge."

"Would not," Nick shook his head. A taste of his drink revealed that his favorite fruit, blueberries, were indeed part of the flavor. A relief. "I planned to come back. You just rushed me."

"If I hadn't?" Finnick stared directly at Nick, rum in one paw and a napkin he was fiddling with in the other. "It'd be far longer than jus' a few weeks 'til we be here celebratin'."

"Who says there's any harm in waiting?" Nick shrugged, taking another sip of alcohol. Berry Lite, the drink was called. "It doesn't matter. We're here now." In a rather deserted bar on the outskirts of Sahara Square. Finnick's favorite bar, though Nick hadn't been particularly fond of it in the past. That was before they came up with their Berry Lite drink, however. "And what - a - night." He emphasized each word, pausing a bit in between syllable. "Loving it."

"You already buzzed, 'r somethin'?" Finnick raised a brow. "Las' time we came here, you complained 'bout everything."

"Did I? Whoops." Nick shrugged again. "It's great, tonight." He looked around at the place, all-wood and pretty shabby, but buzzing with quite a crowd of mammals enjoying their night out. Most were predators, as the joint appeared to have begun scaring away prey unintentionally. Maybe like mammals just flocked together. "Haven't seen a better crowd in ages."

"Whatever, man," Finnick replied, gulping down a bit more of his drink. "Jus' remember, you're payin'."

The two continued downing their drinks in silence for a while, both ordering a second round of the same things once they reached the bottoms of their first drinks. Finnick, completely accustomed to drinking rum, showed no signs of needing to slow down, but Nick, on the other hand, started dwindling.

"Wow," Nick commented, setting his glass down as he made it halfway through his second drink of the night. "Look at this. _Look_ at this." Finnick had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at until Nick elaborated. "So the drink is blue. I should have known it had blueberries. I got a bit worried."

The comment confused him, but Finnick shrugged it off. "Could've asked."

"Well, yes, technically." Nick's mind felt as busy as the bar itself, his thoughts soaring every which way in the same manner that mammals were scuttling around. Only the mammals weren't _really_ moving much. They were just talking a lot. He sipped some more of his drink (gulped more, really, though he thought he consumed only a few more drops). "What else is on the menu?" The fox murmured to himself as he squinted at the board over the antelope bartender's antlers.

"Nothin' y' need." He wouldn't admit concern, but the fennec was beginning to wonder how heavy Nick's drinks had been. Finnick yawned. "'N fact, probably a good time t' head out."

"Good one," Nick turned a bit so the smaller fox wouldn't see him roll his eyes. " _Wow_ , they have blueberry-flavored shots." Practically on cue, the bartender that had first helped them approached, having heard Nick's comment, and he simply nodded at the hooved mammal. "Three, please."

"Hope you know what you're gettin' into," Finnick yawned. He had about an inch left of his rum, and he swirled it around in the bottom of the bottle. "Y' sure don't, half th' time."

"I'm _celebrating_ , Finnick." A smug grin spread across Nick's face. When the antelope handed him his shot glasses, he raised one immediately. "To more success." He downed it.

He had a near-permanent grimace in the first place, but if possible, Finnick's frown deepened. Nick didn't notice.

He was thinking of blueberries. Juicy, sweet blueberries. They weren't always available to him, but Nick could usually snag a few each day. Fruit vendors didn't miss just a few blueberries. Sometimes he'd even _tell_ them, asking if he could take a few as a sample. Then he'd pretend they were gross, but blueberries never were. Round, small, bite-sized, easy to pop in the mouth. Especially those blueberries he snatched up that one day when he met _her_.

And ah, there it was, the memory that opened the floodgates to things he'd been purposely keeping tucked away. Judy Hopps, ZPD officer, first bunny on the force. First day on the force, she met Nick. Boom. Her first mistake. Second mistake, she'd asked Nick for help the very next day (and he helped her, unfortunately). Third, her becoming a giant ass-hat and blaming savage things on savage genes.

Nick needed to remind himself that they were at the bar to _celebrate_ , not reminisce on bullshit, but it looked like the smaller fox had disappeared. (He hadn't, not really, but Nick was losing the ability to focus on very much.) So the fox drank his second shot.

He thought of blueberries: round, like Judy's eyes; blue, like Judy's uniform; and irresistible, like Judy, _stupid_ Judy, who he hadn't been able to stop himself from helping.

Savage case. Savage predators. It was a pretend investigation, Nick had told himself, told himself he could play around a bit and drag things out. (Flash _was_ the fastest at that DMV, he hadn't lied, but there were fast _er_ DMVs in other parts of Zootopia.) Until the limo, until Mr. Big, until he watched _her_ save his life about three times (from the shrew, from the savage jaguar, and from lord-knows-how-many wolves). Until _regret, regret, regret_.

He regretted it all. Agreeing to help. Helping. Becoming her friend.

"I should have said no," Nick murmured, drinking the rest of his Berry Lite glass. "No help for dumb bunnies." He snickered a bit to himself. "Maybe if they stop eating so many carrots."

"Y' sure they didn't spike your drinks?" Finnick's voice cut through Nick's mind fuzz. The bunny-scented fuzz. "Get a hold'a yourself, Nick."

"Welcome back," Nick grinned. He looked toward the Finnick voice. Couldn't see much, he swore it must have gotten darker in the bar, but he managed to find the smaller fox when he squinted. "I have myself _completely_ on hold." He paused. That didn't sound quite right. "I have a hold of myself. Maybe that bunny does too, but I still do." Didn't mean to say that. Time for his third shot. The fox shook his head quickly before gulping it down, hoping to reset his mind. "I'm fine."

" _Still_ thinkin' of that bunny? I knew it. You're 'n deep trouble."

"I'm _fine_ ," Nick repeated. "Just hate her."

"Sure, Nick."

"It's true. I miss her." Shit. " _Hate_ her. Dumb bunny."

"Time t' go home, huh, Nick?" Finnick slapped the fox's shoulder with one paw. "Let's go, man."

Of course, Nick misheard. "Wish I could." Let her go, let her go, _let her go_. "But ouch. Should have known." He chuckled a bit to himself, at himself. "Of course she'd be like everyone else."

"It's time t' go," Finnick said. The smaller fox was shaking his head. "Y' gotta pay. Then we're leaving."

"I don't have money," Nick yawned. Finnick's face shot a death glare. Nick ignored it. "Need more drinks, anyway. Plenty of drinks, bottomless drinks. Do you think they have carrot drinks?" A pause. "Nevermind, those would be gross."

Internally planning some way to get back at Nick, the fennec slapped some money on the counter. "More drinks t'morrow. Let's go."

Despite not being at all eager to leave, Nick obliged, following the smaller fox out of the bar on the way to the van. He paused for a moment when the cool air hit, though, and glanced up at the sky. Deep, dark blue. Like blueberries. Like the sky from the sky trams at night, like the sky near the asylum the night they found the missing, savage mammals.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Nick said. But it wasn't because of the drinks.


	15. Symptoms

_As the seasons events exhaust a mammal, overwhelming them with business and challenges, it may bring about symptoms of sickness._

"I promise I'm fine, okay?"

Judy's parents looked back at her from the screen of her phone, where the muzzle time call counted upwards from eight minutes. The two knew about their daughter's excess work of late, especially since it greatly decreased the amount of time they got talking to the beloved bunny. She seemed almost as if she were avoiding them, but they knew her better than to think that, something for which Judy was very grateful. The chance of finally getting to talk to them provided a blanket of relief— but the onset of a sore throat and congested nose just a few hours prior had _not_ been part of the plan.

"Judy, you're _not_ okay," said her mom. "You're clearly exhausted. You need _rest_. Can't you get a day off? Maybe work less?"

"Well, that's up to the Chief," Judy spoke slowly, not sure of even the truth of her own words. Of course the chief would make the final decision, but it seemed unlikely he would discourage her from cutting back a bit. Even Judy could see that her limit was approaching, after all. He'd commented on it a few times as well, confirming with her that she really _did_ want all the extra work. "I could talk to him about it, maybe."

"Good," Judy's dad nodded his approval. "You need to be careful, Judy."

"I am," Judy replied. "Promise. Tomorrow, I'll talk to Chief Bogo about it first thing in the morn—ah— in the mor—"

A sneeze cut her off.

"Get some rest, sweetie," Judy's mom's eyes were filled with concern, and her dad's brow creased with worry. Her mom continued, "I don't want you feeling any worse. You need rest."

"Yeah, get some rest, Jude the Dude."

"Wait," Judy sniffled, still recovering from her sneeze as she spoke. "Didn't you say you had something to tell me, earlier?" The two had gotten on the call saying they had good news to talk about, but they'd let Judy speak first.

"Oh, we'll talk about that next time," Judy's dad smiled, though it didn't quite wrinkle his face the way real smiles did, and Judy knew he was still worrying. "Good night, Jude."

"Good night, Dad, Mom," Judy did her best to smile back. The exhaustion was probably apparent in her face, despite her best efforts to be as perky as always. "Love you both."

"We love you, Judy," replied her mom. "Good night."

* * *

"Desk work today, Hopps."

Chief Bogo handed a stack of files to the bunny before she'd even thought of what to say to the chief in requesting a bit of a cut down on work. She _had_ been sneezing the entire morning, but she had no idea whether or not the Chief had picked up on that. Judy opened her mouth to say something, but Bogo spoke first.

"You're off early: three o'clock," the cape buffalo declared. "You've done excellent work, Hopps, but you can't get sick for the sake of extra hours." He leaned forward slightly, into the desk before him. "And I see those dark circles, Officer. Normally, a few sneezes aren't enough, but you've gotten enough of the district's work done that we can afford letting you leave early today," he explained. Again, before Judy could get a single word out, the Chief continued speaking. "Dismissed. To your desk, Hopps."

She paused for a moment, wanting to see if he had more to say, but he remained silent. Judy finally spoke. "Thank you, sir." She held the papers against her chest, hoping not to drop any. Though they were designed for smaller mammals, the were still bit large for a bunny. Taking care to hold on tightly, Judy made her way over to the office, where her desk awaited her from a small cubicle.

The pile of tissues on the aforementioned desk began to resemble a mountain after just a few hours, and she started to see why the early release would be good for her. She wanted so badly to work, to keep her mind occupied, but her body wanted to sink into the nearest thing resembling a bed (in this case, one of the over-sized, cushioned chairs meant for the larger officers) and retreat into sleep. Which was just no good.

 _You okay, Carrots?_ came the line of concerned dialogue that was circulating around her mind. She had no idea why she was now imagining things in _that_ fox's voice, and she shook her head at herself each time she did. Though she did her best to focus every ounce of energy onto her paperwork, the line bounced back into her head when she sneezed again minutes later.

Not until after her shift ended and she was standing in the subway train did she realize _why_ she kept thinking of the fox. It was in a similar train car that she and Nick had stood together, on their way to the precinct office to share their discovery with Bogo, and Nick had noticed her sneeze quite a few times. That was the second time, counting the little Bogo confrontation before getting on the sky tram, that the conman appeared to show concern for Judy, and it still came to her surprise. Both of them were _drenched_ , also for the second time in that 48-hour period, and they hadn't exactly had access to any towels or blowdryers. So the shivers and sneezes _made sense_.

Only Nick's concern seemed new. But the fox had so quickly followed up with one of his typical dumb-witty comments that Judy had been able to push the memory out of her mind with little to no trouble.

A slight pang struck her heart when she remembered the moment, and Judy knew _that_ wasn't from exhaustion. Nor were the more frequently recalled memories that danced in her mind, nor the tinge of suspense she felt anytime she spotted a fox on the streets. She didn't sleep long enough to develop very memorable dreams, either, but every once in a while, she knew she dreamt of those 48 hours, too.

The memories. The thoughts. The dreams. These didn't come from the exhaustion, not the way her sometimes-numb body or increasingly burning throat did.

She _missed_ Nick. After nearly two months, this seemed like the worst sort of odd sickness she could get.


	16. Illness

**Author's note (6/12/16):** I wanted to say that if you're queer and/or otherwise affected or upset about the shooting that happened in Florida yesterday, you can always feel free to message me! It's terrible, and don't let anyone tell you it's not valid to be upset. Stay safe! **-UmbraTsuki**

 _After a mammal recognizes the symptoms they carry, they must then concentrate their efforts on keeping the illness at bay, rather than letting it impede on their life._

The muzzle came back.

This time, the sensation fell somewhere between burning and numbing, and Nick's head throbbed. He didn't try to pull the muzzle off, not this time. It never worked before. And instead of in a press conference or a tram car, the fox found himself sneaking around the Cliffside Asylum once more, the sounds of howling muffled in the background.

He felt like his own breath planned to choke him, catching in his throat and lungs and refusing to move more than a margin at a time. Short, pained. Stopped. Shallow. His heart, on the other hand, pumped out a rhythm faster than the pattering heard from the paws of wolves who were scrambling outside the hallway to find the "intruder." Nick was hiding from these wolves, that much he knew, but he didn't remember exactly why. Too blurry. Too foggy. No _clarity_ , not at all, not in his mind.

Until a voice cut through.

Of course it was _her_ voice, Judy's, and Nick could hardly understand what she said, either. Something about "looking" and "out," but the fox felt focused more on her scent. This was familiar- hints of their visit to the Rainforest District came through the masked scent of rain and muddy water, overpowered by the slightly more recent City Hall visit that included the sharp scent of cleaning solution used in the building. Lucky for them, that same solution was used in the old hospital, and the grasses and rocks from the area outside had also mixed in with their fur to disguise the out-of-place smells.

But Judy was right there. He couldn't see her well, but his rapid breaths forced a different glimpse of her features through his nose with each progressive moment. She didn't notice him breaking down; she only seemed to focus on one thing, the same thing that was whatever she was telling him about.

That wasn't Judy. The real Judy _noticed_ , noticed way more than he wanted her to.

Realizing this woke him from his dream, but most of the dream—the short breaths, the pounding headache—existed in reality. Nick felt a layer of sweat coating his paws, and his throat felt dry and swollen.

He vaguely remembered that he drank again the night before, and the fox groaned when he sat up and felt his head spin. Wherever he was, he'd made some kind of nest of blankets, and the walls were completely bare. There was a vertical crack of light on one side, and the area contained only the blankets he'd used and a couple coolers. One labeled "alcohol," and the other labeled only by the pawpsicle sign that was propped on top.

The realization that he fell asleep in Finnick's _van_ only worsened his headache and increased his self-hatred. He'd need to avoid drinking around his business partner in the future. For the moment, it seemed the smaller fox was absent, however, so that gave Nick time to get his tail out of there.

At least, he'd thought it did. When he crawled over to the van's back doors and managed to shove one open, the intruding sunlight magnified his head pain. Stumbling out of the van anyway, Nick shielded his eyes with one paw, letting them adjust a bit to the ridiculous amount of light. Judging by that amount, he guessed it was mid-afternoon. He doubted his phone had any battery for him to make sure (and when he checked his phone—yep, no battery).

Since moving made him nauseated, Nick didn't go very far from the van before propping himself against the side of a building, in its shade, and rubbing at his temples to try to rid himself of some of the pain. No good, really. With a sigh, he proceeded to crouch down, then sit, leaning his back against the wall.

His nightmare wasn't quite clear in his mind, but he remembered one thing about it, that decided to take center stage once he wasn't focused on moving around: Judy Hopps. The bunny cop, the meter maid, the dumb bunny, the _clever_ —

Nick hated it. Hated recognizing that he couldn't _deny_ that he missed her, not at this point, and he hated _her_ yet for being so miss-able but also horrible. Horribly capable of hurting him, that is, which she did. So much. And still, even without being physically there, she continued to hurt him. Not that she _knew_ , but memories did strange things.

The throbbing in his head wouldn't leave, and Nick knew he needed to find the nearest drug store and buy some painkillers. Maybe treat himself to some blueberries. Then get back home and rid the stench of Finnick's van from his fur, perhaps attempting in the process to drown away the stupid thoughts he kept having of stupid bunny officers.

Enough was enough. He needed her out of his head. His life would go on with or without her, and without was probably better.

He'd make sure of it.


	17. Recovery

_When the mammal manages to bring the symptoms under control, they finally get to focus on recovering from their setback. Or at least doing their best at that._

For what she hoped would be the last time in a while, the clock on Judy's bedside table read 7:58 before she headed out the door. Because of her getting sick, Bogo had limited her hours so that she wouldn't be up too early nor back home very late. This was meant to provide the bunny ample time to relieve the symptoms she'd racked up, but while her physical state improved, she found the extra time forced more emotional and mental stress to come around. Not exactly ideal.

Getting to work by nine in the morning felt quite _off_. She felt physically okay, so she hoped to talk with Chief Bogo about getting more hours. A week of such a huge cut-down was way more than enough, physically, and way _too_ much mentally, as her mind wasn't kept occupied with enough (healthy) thoughts. The ease at which she could think back to Nick (hurting Nick, losing Nick, missing Nick) intimidated her. Terrified her.

Before she got to the bullpen, once again, Clawhauser stopped her. So to speak. This time, he didn't actively nor consciously grab her attention, but rather, the scene surrounding the officer demanded Judy's immediate focus. Loudly.

A moose stood bent over the counter behind which Clawhauser sat—or in this case, nearly cowered. Instead of wearing his usual friendly expression, the cheetah appeared flustered and overwhelmed. Understandable so, as the moose had just shouted something. Judy hadn't heard quite what that was, as she'd been stepping into the building while the words emerged, but the bunny hurried closer, hoping to find out what was going on. It didn't take long.

"Honestly, _how_ a police facility could allow a _predator_ to serve citizens upfront is way beyond me!" The moose shouted next. Ouch. Judy planned to butt in, but the moose wasn't done. "Now— you get a _kind_ mammal to come help me out, or I will go directly to your boss. And you will _not_ like the things I'll say.

"Excuse me," Judy finally approached the desk and interrupted the conversation. Clawhauser still looked a bit terrified, but hints of relief showed on his face when he spotted the bunny. She continued, hoping she could get the moose off Clawhauser's case before she needed to get to the bullpen in a few minutes. "Officer Clawhauser is _the_ kindest you'll get. And he does his job perfectly. What's so wrong with that?"

The moose seemed caught off-guard, but recovered quickly, with a remark that much dismayed Judy. "Oh, _you_ of all mammals must know the answer. Don't you?" Arms crossed when they turned away from the desk, the moose stared downward at the bunny. "You said so, after all: predators are going savage because of their biology. They are _inherently_ violent, and certainly not to be trusted." The moose paused. "At the very least, not with citizens. Let them handle criminals, whatever, but _not_ —"

"Stop," Judy cut the moose off, holding one paw up. It seemed the mammal assumed Judy would just agree with the notions, but that definitely was _not_ the case. Her nose twitched rapidly while she went on. "This is the ZPD. Zootopia Police Department. _Everyone_ here aims to _protect_ and _serve_. Predators aren't any exception. So please—"

"Hopps!" A voice cut in, and the bunny's sigh felt heavier than the rhino who happened to be the source: Officer McHorn. "Not in the bullpen yet? Bogo's looking for you."

Cheese and crackers. Did she really lose track of time that badly? "I'm just trying to explain that Clawhauser—"

"Let him fight his own battles." The rhino snorted, speaking in a low voice as he put a hoof on the bunny's shoulder. He seemed to be attempting some level of secrecy, but Judy was nearly certain the cheetah could still hear. As well as the moose. "Can you blame prey for being scared, really?"

It was probably a lapse of judgement and her brain being far too messy, but the bunny hardly protested when the rhino began guiding her toward the bullpen door. She began walking of her own accord within moments, but faintly heard the moose assert to Clawhauser that they were still "expecting help from another mammal." Her stomach sunk when she realized what this meant she'd done, that she abandoned a friend she may have been able to help. Again.

Again. Doing this again, like she had to Nick, hurting someone she considered a friend.

She supposed that meant Nick was better off wherever he was. It was impossible for her to hurt him more there, as it seemed she was inclined to do, and had done more than enough already.

The only one really doing harm in Zootopia was _her_. No predator, nor other prey in the city, had done so much harm the way she had.


	18. Hesitation

_Though a mammal may be confident after recovering from sickness, the approach of the new season may intimidate the mammal and instill uncertainty._

Despite his best efforts, Nick's quest to completely forget about Judy Hopps seemed trivial. No matter how many days passed—it had been so many _weeks_ since the press conference already—the bunny's voice or the bunny's face would pop up in his mind every once in a while, regardless of the immediate situation. He'd gotten better at not immediately delving into a chain of memories after _one_ memory came up, but he still thought of the bunny at least once a day. Unfortunately.

According to Finnick, he wasn't trying hard enough, however, since he still carried the carrot pen with him. Everywhere.

It wasn't exactly a conscious decision, and it wasn't exactly something he felt he had control over. It stayed in his back pocket at all times, tucked beside the bandana he still had from when he wanted to be a Junior Ranger Scout. The bandana was old and a bit worn, despite the fact that he never used it, for fear that he'd lose or damage it beyond recognition. Good, old wear-and-tear from coming along with him all the time. Finnick probably didn't even know he had that.

The carrot pen, on the other hand, stood out a bit much if anyone were looking closely, and he may have taken it out once or twice without thinking about it. The pen was clearly treasured by its previous bunny owner. Hardly a single scratch could be found on it, save for a few minor marks perhaps. The pen's condition was so pristine that it would seem out-of-place beside the bandana, if anyone other than he would see them together.

He'd fidget with it. Press buttons. Play. Stop. Rewind. Play. Stop. Record. Erase.

The last thing recorded on the pen that he _didn't_ erase was a snippet of Judy's press conference.

He wanted to throw the pen away many times. Every time he listened to the press conference clip, actually. But when he'd find himself standing beside a trash can, or standing at a river's edge, considering just dumping it in, his paw would freeze in a firm grasp around the pen. The same thing, probably, had stopped him from returning the pen to the bunny along with the filled-out police employment application: _just in case_.

Nick didn't exactly want to keep the pen.

He didn't have much choice.

There was probably a glint of hope he held on to. Most likely hope that Judy might come back for the pen, that she might reveal that, hey, she _knew_ what she said at the press conference was total B.S. (no offense to Chief Buffalo-Butt).

It felt weird, hanging on to something so new. Almost none of his belongings were new. He's grown accustomed to hand-me-downs and secondhand belongings throughout his life. But despite the carrot pen's perfect, flawless condition next to his old, battered bandana, the two items became the only things he'd check on every night to see that they were okay. He had something to hold on to, two things to hold on to.

He hit play.

 _"Well, the... the animals in question..."_ Judy's voice came through, only muffled a bit. _"Are they all different species? Yes, yes they are."_

He remembered feeling so proud, seeing Judy turn from a nervous (almost-)wreck to a true police officer.

 _"Okay, so what is the connection?"_

 _"All we know is that they are all members of the predator family."_

Handling questions from the press with relative ease.

 _"So predators are the only ones going savage?"_

 _"That is accu... Yes, that is accurate, yes."_

Even when the questions weren't ideal.

 _"Why? Why is this happening?"_

 _"We.. still don't know. But it may have something to do with biology."_

Until the pride fell from his chest, just as he'd begun to think of how _great_ it might be to work with the officer. Get a real job.

 _"What do you mean by that?"_

 _"A biological component. You know, some—"_

He stopped the recording.

The fox could feel his pulse quickening, and his hackles raising a bit... but he felt loss more than anything.

Because what if he _hadn't_ refused her invitation to come up to the podium with her? Would he have been able to help her answer differently? He doubted it, but he wondered. Granted, he was glad he _wasn't_ up on the podium, if she ended up saying the same words with him right next to her. That would have been more than awful. Yet still, he couldn't help but wonder.

Nick had hoped he'd be able to forget the bunny. But he knew, knew that she impacted him too much, that she grew to mean _way too much_ , that she granted him _too much_ hope... that she was too much for him to just disregard.

And that perhaps it was still too early for him to try.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** If you don't already, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! Comments are always welcome and encouraged. I know I rarely leave author's notes here, so I apologize for the lack of communication there— I really hope you're all enjoying this, though! :). **\- UmbraTsuki**


	19. Fade

_As the end-of-season challenges rear their heads, a mammal may notice hints of the fading of the present season, and even fading of their own strength._

Parking tickets, parking tickets, parking tickets.

261... 262... 263...

Suddenly, Judy found herself without her ticket machine and with only her carrot recorder pen in her paws. Strange. She never did get that back from Nick. She hit play, out of curiosity, and only static noises came through the tiny speakers.

A growling noise caught her attention, one that came from behind, and she turned around to see that the street dropped off into rainforest canopy, and a savage jaguar stood across a rickety wooden bridge. Again. This time Nick wasn't by her side, though, and she found her feet glued to the ground despite her fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.

She _knew_ Nick wasn't there, but her eyes kept scanning the forest for him.

Until the savage animal was no longer Manchas. It was Nick.

A crowd was shouting behind her, and Judy spun around to see a group of angry protesters. Not peaceful at all, they carried signs with clearly anti-predator sentiments, and they were rushing toward her.

Well. Rushing toward the one _behind_ her.

"Get the fox!" Many of them shouted. Others yelled: "We can't have _savages_ in _Zootopia_!"

Judy's eyes followed the crowd as they rushed toward Nick, and her heart pounded. "No!" She'd attempted to shout, but it came out like a whisper.

And then a young lamb stood in front of her. "Thank you for teaching us, Judy," the lamb was smiling as she spoke. "Predators are bad. Now we know."

"I did _not_ —" The bunny's breath caught before she could finish her claim. The mob mammals began carrying torches, running after a snarling Nick who seemed confused and scared to death.

Everything was a blur.

"Nick!" Judy called out to the fox, but he couldn't process any words. He turned his back and fled from the violent mammals. And before she could run after him, a sharp pain in her side woke the bunny from this strange nightmare.

Blinking away the last of her unconscious state and recognizing her surroundings, Judy realized that she'd fallen asleep on her desk at work. She groaned and made a mental note to let Clawhauser know, once again, that her hours would need adjusting. The pain in her side came from the awkward position in which she'd slept, however briefly it may have been.

Dreams like that had come before. But with the increase in violent and negative attitudes toward predators, the dreams only worsened.

She rubbed her temples for a moment and sighed, taking a few deep breaths before she hopped down from her seat. The time was already past two AM, and she needed to clock out as soon as possible.

But the nightmare lingered in her mind, her heart rate still quick and pulse aggravated, and the walk back out to the ZPD's lobby felt longer than ever before. _Why_ could people see Judy as a source of inspiration for anything so hateful toward predators? She knew what she'd said, and she knew this particular case was just a dream, but she'd also heard of a few mammals in real life who praised _her_ for their complete misinterpretation of her words.

Judy never regretted a day as much as she regretted _that_ one. The day of the press conference. Over two months ago now, and not a single day went by that she _didn't_ regret it. And it was wearing her down. Hearing reminders everywhere, _seeing_ reminders everywhere. And instead of any decrease in savage cases, it seemed as if the number of animals gone savage had skyrocketed.

Throughout her life, she'd always been able to look to her parents for advice, or at least a sibling (or ten). She was never short of a shoulder to cry on, as bustling as the Hopps' family home was. If she felt upset, around twenty bunny siblings would rush to comfort her, and she'd do the same for them. When more than one bunny was sad, they'd reassure one another and share in blanket cuddles or eating carrot cake.

But this was far too horrible for her to even want to seek guidance. Too embarrassing. Too... stupid.

No one else could suffer this with her. No one knew exactly what the case had entailed; no one else was the target of the extremely misguided praise of hundreds of mammals. Only Nick had been near enough on the case that he might understand _something_ , but he...

There was absolutely no one she could turn to.

Judy finally reached the time keeper where she could clock out, and she hurriedly headed out of the building. By that late an hour, the public transit was already done running, so she had to call a taxi to get back home. When the night air hit her as she stepped out of the building, Judy shivered. Not only from the cold, but from what occurred to her.

That for the first time in her life, Judy Hopps experienced something she never would have expected: feeling completely and utterly alone.


	20. Bargaining

_In order to deal with challenges and any loss of the season, a mammal may deal with grief through attempted bargaining: with themself, with others, or with fate._

"Five bucks says 't a month from now, you'll finally see she's not comin' back."

Finnick had finally agreed to another round of drinks with him (this time, no more than one, Nick had promised himself), but Nick appeared too preoccupied with other things to focus on conversation. Twirling the straw around in his drink instead, the fox let out a low hum, not to any particular tune.

When Finnick started shouting out his name to grab his attention, he finally snapped back to reality.

" _Nick_!"

"Hm? You were saying?"

"'M makin' you a bet. _Ten_ bucks. A month from now, she still won' be back. Hell, she ain't _never_ comin' back."

"I _know_ that, Finnick," Nick rolled his eyes. He stifled a yawn and sipped a bit from his drink. "Not making a bet I know I'll lose."

" _Sure_ y' do," Finnick snorted, gulping down some rum, as was his usual. "Tha's why y're still thinkin' of her, right? Always mopin', takin' your sweet time more'n usual, turning 'round everytime something 'bout a bunny pops—"

"Okay, you know what?" Nick held up a paw, cutting the smaller fox off. "Want to make a deal? I'll make you a deal. I will give you fifteen dollars, _right_ now, if you stop lying and stop obsessing about her." Of course, according to Finnick, it was Nick who had the obsession, but that was only a minor detail. "How about _that_ , instead."

Finnick let out a small whistle. "I s'pose that'll do." He paused for a moment, then held a paw out. "Hand it over."

* * *

While he walked home that night, Nick wondered if somehow, somewhere, there had been something he could have done differently that would have fixed things. Prevented things from getting so bad in the first place, even.

Every time he thought of something, he immediately rejected it. Could he have helped her practice answering questions before the panel? Nah, not enough time. She'd still be nervous. Maybe talked Chief Buffalo-Butt into _not_ making Judy answer questions? Well, the guy didn't like foxes anyway. He wouldn't listen.

His questioning strayed farther and farther from reality, turning into things he might try _now_ rather than things he _could have_ tried. Partially because he could no longer blame Judy entirely for the whole deal, but also perhaps some of him losing his mind just a bit.

Maybe trying the Jumbeaux's Café hustle once again would get the bunny to appear like she had the first time? He knew he had no way of pulling that off again, though, not with the scene he caused that time. Perhaps walking by the ZPD for a visit? Okay, no way. Too risky. The chances of being suspected for some crime he didn't commit were too high. Maybe apologizing for those blueberries he stole that first day? ... Nah, no way.

Perhaps swearing off stealing blueberries, instead, would help. But that would be pretty hard. Swearing off _eating_ blueberries? Ugh, much worse. He figured adding carrots to his diet might not kill him. Maybe the added carrots in his lifestyle would attract a bunny... right? Probably not. And carrots tasted gross anyway.

Nick was approaching a park he always saw on his way, and his eyes settled on the pond within it for a moment. Maybe he could find some flat skipping stones. It had been a while since he'd tested his skill at that.

If he could find three flat stones then maybe, _maybe_ she'd return. He found three almost right away and thought: _too easy_. Five, then. He couldn't find a fifth, only four, and let out a sigh. It was just a stupid game anyway, right?

"Okay, then," the fox said to himself. "Let's try this..."

If he could skip two of the four stones, he'd take it as a good sign.

The first sunk straight into the water. No surprise, there. The second left the same legacy. "Deep breaths.. You can't do this when you're nervous," he reminded himself. He knew this was silly, just a game, a dumb game, but—

The third stone bounced off the water a few times before sinking. It counted.

He held the fourth stone in his paw, running his fingers over and around it. Practically memorizing every bump and curve. Nick sighed and shoved the stone in his pocket, still enclosed in his paw. Making deals with himself like this was pointless; he couldn't control the outcome at all. All he could do was think a few thoughts and do a few things, but that wouldn't make any kind of difference in the end.

But he didn't need to keep the stone.

She didn't need to come back. She _shouldn't_ , he knew, and he doubted he could actually stand the sight of her anyway. He missed the idea of her, perhaps, of the Judy that actually believed in him. But not everything else. Not the under-the-surface-prejudiced Judy, not the one who could still only think of him as a sneaky fox. _That_ was what he needed to remember.

He gripped the stone in his paw tightly, letting tension run through. He neeeded to remember the Judy that hurt him. The Judy that was way too easy to trust and that forced his guard down way too quickly.

Turning his back on the pond while he tossed the last stone into the water, Nick continued his walk home.

But faintly, he thought he heard a few splashes of a stone hopping over the water.


	21. Unexpected

_To deal with the build up of stress from the season, a mammal may make a move seemingly uncharacteristic in an attempt to mend things._

A knock on the wall of her cubicle interrupted her Savage Mammal Report. This time, like most, Chief Bogo stood there, leaning onto the wall while he spoke.

"Come on, Hopps," his usual gruff voice greeted Judy as she spun around to face him. When she did, he motioned toward the exit with a jerk of his head. "The new mayor wants to see us."

"The mayor?" Judy asked. A slight nod from Bogo confirmed what she'd heard. "Why?"

"It would seem you've arrived," said the buffalo. He turned to leave, leading the way toward the office exit. She didn't much like the sound of that, finding it far too confusing, but she hoped it wouldn't be quite as weird as she was thinking.

When she got out to the lobby and saw Clawhauser packing his belongings into a box, Judy's heart, and ears, dropped immediately. "Clawhauser..?" Judy stepped closer, her mind buzzing with worry. "What are you doing?"

"Um..." The cheetah looked down at her for a moment, almost appearing annoyed, but continued after taking in a breath. "They thought it would be better," the cheetah blinked rapidly, pausing for an extra moment, "if a _predator_ , such as myself, wasn't the first face that you see when you walk into the ZPD."

Her mind flashed back to that moment a couple weeks ago with the moose. " _What_?"

"They're.. gonna move me to records," he continued. If the cheetah wasn't on the verge of crying, he sure could act like it. He turned around with his box. "It's downstairs. It's by the boiler."

Judy was about to say something until the Chief called her away. "Hopps!" No time for consoling friends, apparently. The bunny took one last look at the cheetah before turning to follow the cape buffalo.

* * *

When the two arrived at City Hall, Mayor Bellwether presented Judy with a ZPD flyer that held her own beaming face right in the middle.

"I don't understand," Judy spoke in a quiet voice. She laid the flyer back down on the desk and looked up at the sheep.

"Our city is ninety percent prey, Judy," Bellwether began, "and right now, they're just _really_ scared. You're a hero to them." A sense of deja vu approached as the mayor spoke. "They _trust_ you. And that's why," she paused for a moment, glancing at Chief Bogo as she smiled. "Chief Bogo and I want _you_ to be the public face of the ZPD."

"I'm— not..." Judy started, too stunned for words. The irony of Chief Bogo suddenly hoping for so much after initially not believing in her at all was not lost on her, but at this point, she couldn't bring herself to care. "I'm not a hero." Deep breath. "I came here to make the world a better place," she spoke slowly, cautiously, eyes shifting from the flyer to her hands to the two mammals in front of her. "But I _think_ I broke it."

"Don't give yourself _so much_ credit, Hopps," the chief leaned toward her, expression touched with a hint of a smile. "The world has always been broken. That's why we need good cops." He paused for a moment. "Like you."

Normally she would be ecstatic to hear such a compliment, but Judy couldn't rightfully accept it. "With... all due respect, sir," her voice wavered a bit. "A good cop is supposed to _serve_ and protect... Help the city." She exhaled. "Not.. Tear it apart." When Judy looked down at the badge on her chest, she knew what she needed to do. " _I_ don't deserve this badge."

She was already beginning to remove the badge before either of the others could speak.

"Hopps..."

" _Judy_ ," Bellwether seemed just as taken aback as Chief Bogo. "You've worked so hard to get here. It's what you wanted since you were a _kid_." The sheep seemed to be trying to make eye contact, but Judy couldn't. "You can't quit."

With only a glance upward at the other two when she laid the badge down, Judy sighed softly, hoping neither of them heard. "Thank you for the opportunity."

* * *

The ride home on the subway felt surreal. Her chest felt physically lighter, the weight of her badge absent, but emotionally heavier, held down by the guilt she felt for the city's state of separation between predator and prey. She doubted anything could really fix this, and her withdrawal from the ZPD said as much.

Nothing about the possibility of her keeping the badge seemed right, though. She realized, now, that she'd done this to the city. Caused a rift, took away the land's meaning. Even if it was just her being self conscious (it probably wasn't), Judy could feel all eyes on her on her commute home.

She was sure they knew her. She hated it, but almost every publication in town had put her story in a feature, and of course none of them mentioned Nick. It was her, one bunny who somehow found all the savage mammals and and inspired opposition of their "primitive, savage" instincts nested "in their DNA." Her own words. She hated that.

The city no longer held the appeal it once had. Nothing gleamed or glistened about the fact that prey now frequently cowered or became angry in the presence of predators. Nothing said "Anyone can be anything," not with the way predators were being denied rights about which they didn't previously need to worry. Nothing sparkled about the way Judy noticed predators would rush through the streets, avoiding potential confrontation.

Nothing.


	22. Resolve

_After tying up a few loose ends, a mammal can renew their desire to move on, feeling more certain of their hopes for the future._

When he saw the front page of the day's paper, Nick scoffed. The recent headlines seemed redundant. All spotlighted headlines, at least, repeated the same basic message: "First Bunny Cop Resigns From ZPD."

To say that he never expected that would be a lie. But to say that he _still_ expected that to happen would also be a lie. Nick Wilde, once again, found himself caught off-guard by the (former?) bunny cop. Even when she wasn't around.

Sure, at the beginning, he doubted she'd last very long before quitting. Before realizing her dream city wasn't everything she'd hoped. But over 48 hours together and _boom_ , she sure turned that around. Her passion for her work, her determination, and just how _different_ she was made him actually believe she'd make it as a big-city cop. And she did make it. So he didn't think that cracking one of the biggest cases the city had taken on in recent months would be the thing to turn that around. Making it big like that, wouldn't it make her stay longer?

Perhaps not.

In the back of his mind, Nick wondered if he had anything to do with it. But he brushed the thought aside as soon as it came. Judy wouldn't have let a fox like him stop her. From anything. And she told him herself that she'd dreamt of the job, dreamt of the city, ever since she was a kid. That's not something a mammal just gives up on.

He did wonder what happened, but Nick tried not to think about it too much. He could speculate 24/7, but actually knowing the answer would take having a conversation with Judy Hopps. He knew that. He certainly didn't want that conversation.

But this news invited another idea. If Judy quit the ZPD, and presumably returned to Bunny Burrow, it could be easier than ever to forget about her. And _that_ was exactly what he needed. No more wondering whether he'd run into her or not, and no more ruminating on whether he could or should have done anything differently. He could just drop it.

That was easier said than done, however, and he figured this out _quickly_ when, even after a few more days passed and the newspapers no longer covered Judy's story, Nick noticed that to mammals everywhere, Judy was still the talk of the town. In some ways, anti-predator bias seemed worse as well, some prey blaming predators for the bunny's withdrawal. Nick even heard talk of "that fox at the press conference," and he felt himself being scrutinized everywhere he went. He knew other foxes were probably dealing with the same thing. Mammals wondering if _this_ fox was " _that_ one."

In Nick's case, he actually was. But when mammals asked him anything, he knew he needed to pretend that he had no idea what they were talking about. They had the wrong fox.

One bunny gave him the worst time. A news reporter bunny who he vaguely remembered _had_ happened to be at the press conference.

"I know it was you," the bunny, a bit thinner than Judy, had her hands on her hips and a rapidly twitching nose. "Nick, right? Oh yes, I heard her. You scared her to _death_."

The fox sighed. He didn't need this. "Look, Car—" no, not that nickname— " _whoever_ you are, you have the wrong guy." Nick's own nose wiggled a bit as he picked up on the scent of... fear, was it? Wow, absolutely no trust from these bunnies. "I don't associate with cops."

"Were you about to call me ' _carrots_ '?!" The reporter seemed so taken aback that Nick could swear he saw her nose twitch faster. If that were possible. "Like that's new. I mean, I don't expect much more out of you, but you're one of the _worst_ foxes, aren't you?"

And there it was. The fox thing.

"Listen, sweetheart," Nick tried not to roll his eyes. Tried. "You can call me what you'd like, but you're not getting any kind of report out of me." He figured that continuing to deny the facts, at this point, wouldn't do much. He could sure brush her off, though. "In fact, why not just hop on home? I'm sure you have plenty of predators left to harass, but spare them the trouble."

Letting out a huff, the bunny reporter opened and closed her mouth a few times before she finally figured out what to say. "You're _horrible_." The rabbit spun on her heel and left, leaving Nick in a pool of relief.

Then unease. He'd lived for quite a while completely avoiding any official parts of society like newscasters or cops. Helped him go unnoticed by anyone who could interfere with his business but be known by mammals from whom he _needed_ business. Getting any spotlight or even small acknowledgement (even negative) for anything that wasn't directly related to his hustling schemes was an experience very new and very _strange_ and perhaps very bad. Nick had never known extra attention to be a good thing in the past, and he certainly hoped the bunny reporter would keep her mouth shut and help him avoid it now.

Brushing her out of his immediate life had been easy. Heck, as long as she didn't point him out to anyone, she was as good as gone—one hundred percent. Easy as cake, or whatever phrase one would want to use. Tell her off, watch her leave, and done. No more trouble.

If only forgetting another bunny, a specific bunny, a special bunny, Judy Hopps, could be just that simple.


	23. Settlement

_After settling on a path, a mammal aims to find security, hoping to avoid a repeat of any negative events from the past season._

Sticking the last of her clothes into her suitcase, Judy released a deep sigh. Even though she'd already resigned, Judy remained in Zootopia for about a week after. Mostly laying around her tiny apartment, listening to a few of her neighbor's arguments, trying not to think about the predators, the savage mammals, the... everything.

She hadn't told the landowner anything yet, but she figured that taking care of all that could wait. For now, she knew she needed to see her family. A week had been long enough, and Judy finally had enough of feeling so _alone_. Even if she couldn't tell her siblings or parents about the details of her sudden withdrawal from work, she knew they'd have her back to some extent. She could sort out everything in Zootopia another time.

There was a weight to getting on the train that made the departure difficult. A weight that tried to keep her from leaving, saying: _are you sure_? Judy was _sure_ she hated that weight, whatever it was, for providing her that rare shred of doubt. It didn't feel like her.

Instead of sitting under the dome window this time, Judy tucked herself away in the corner of one of the standard seats and stared absent-mindedly out the very plain, very flat window. She saw all the same sights she had seen on her first train ride there, but none of it struck her the same way it had before. Not at all. Biased mammals and her own experiences had tainted the city, and Judy had started what caused most of it.

The Rainforest District made her cringe. As the train passed through, she remembered the moments with Nick there. The raindrops building up within her fur, the slippery surface of the trees and tram deck, and the embarrassment the Chief had dropped on her in front of a group of her fellow officers (he'd since apologized, but the memory didn't change).

Of course, from the train she could see a few tram cars, and that reminded the bunny of the first moment Nick had shown his vulnerability. The first time he'd shown the trust that she inevitably broke.

She needed to stop thinking about that.

The train didn't stay in the Rainforest District long, however, next passing into Tundra Town. Judy shivered on reflex, despite the fact that she didn't actually feel any cold. She _did_ remember it, though, and perhaps the worst version of it since she'd spent most of her time there in the middle of the night. The coldest time possible. Colder when she and Nick were being dangled above a frozen river.

Her nose twitched, and the bunny shook her head, hoping to shake the fox thoughts for once. Even so, the guilt remained.

Next the train passed through a tunnel and into Sahara Square, and Judy saw The Palm towering over other buildings in the distance and remembered Gazelle's peace protests. Many of which took place in the area. The pop star had continued rallying protestors to support predators, but the opposing mammal reactions had grown worse each time. Judy wondered how long the celebrity could keep it up.

With the train's fast approach of the outskirts of town, Judy sank deeper into her seat and made sure _not_ to look outside and see the grand exit. As if maybe, by not thinking about the fact she was leaving Zootopia as well as why she was doing so, she could make reality... not be reality. Fidgeting with the watch on her wrist, she let out a deep sigh. Of course that wouldn't work.

The scents of Bunny Burrow hit Judy before anything else alerted her to the train's arrival. A passenger must have left their window open. Despite the longing she still felt for the city of her dreams, returning to Bunny Burrow gave her a blanket of relief that she wanted to hole away in and never leave. It felt safe. _She_ felt safe.

She hesitated before stepping onto the platform. _There's no going back._ She had always told herself to only move forward. Never quit. Don't look back. Was it cowardly of her to go back home already?

One glance back onto the train reminded her that it was necessary. Even on public transit, on a small snapshot of city life, she saw prey regarding predators with disdain. The reminders were relentless. She had some small hope that Bunny Burrow hadn't quite been touched by that.

No, Bunny Burrow hadn't changed in the past few months. Of course, a season had nearly passed, but other than the slightly different mix of produce due to the changing months, the scents and sights were all just about the same. Warm and welcoming.

Even though the walk home was a bit long, and walking that distance in a town like that was practically unheard of, she seized the opportunity to stretch her muscles a bit. She'd spent so much time sitting indoors for the past week that the exercise was long overdue. Getting the opportunity to see her hometown with no rush to be anywhere else was also relaxing, to an extent.

But the relaxation came with apprehension as she drew closer to home. What would her parents say? Had they seen the newspapers misfigure everything, already? That might explain all the attempts at contacting her. What would her siblings say? She remembered how much some of them looked up to her, especially at her graduation, and that had felt amazing. But she didn't deserve that, especially after what she'd done. Would they hate her for ruining that?

It was evening, and it seemed most bunnies were indoors for supper. Judy took in a deep breath as she approached the main door. She knew that, no matter how disappointed they would be, and how disappointed in herself she felt, it was time to settle. So she raised a paw, hesitated for a moment, then knocked.

Her mother who answered the door. Her face and ears went through a few stages of emotion, from surprised, to happy, to worried.

"I.. I'm home?" Judy hadn't meant for it to, but her words came out almost as a question, her exhaustion derailing her ability to make the assertion. Luckily, her mom didn't need much else.

She pulled her daughter in for an embrace and nudged the front door enough that it would shut. Being held so closely, Judy knew her mother probably felt her trembling, felt how tired her body was, felt how _empty_ she felt. And felt the relief that came after her words.

"Welcome home, bun-bun."


	24. Departure

_Knowing that the season is nearing its end, a mammal may, for good measure, attempt to part with some relics of the past._

 _"...Two-hundred bucks a day, Fluff. Three-hundred and sixty-five days a—"_

Delete.

Nick took a deep breath, staring at the pen in his paws while he walked slowly through a humble part of town. There hadn't been any particular reason why he didn't deleted that condemning bit of evidence _earlier_ , but as long as the deed was done at some point, he figured he was safe. Plus he needed to get rid of _something_ , if he wanted to start trying to get Judy off his mind for good. If it wasn't the carrot pen itself, with which he still found he couldn't part, the recordings had to go.

There weren't very many recordings to begin with.

 _"... animals in question—"_

It took barely a moment to delete the press conference recording, thanks to the horrid contents. A split second of regret did occur to him, though, upon realizing that other than the pen itself, Nick had nothing else of Judy's. The recording had been the last.

He tried to convince himself that it didn't matter. But even after three months, he was having trouble with that.

As he continued walking, Nick hit the record button on the pen for a few moments, catching only sounds of the few cars that went by, or occasionally a parking meter going off. He'd stop recording, rewind, delete. Rewind, record again. Rewind, play, rewind, play, record. At first he worked consciously, but eventually the movements became mere fidgeting, absent-minded motions his body executed.

He was getting better at it, though. Learning exactly how to start or stop recording or rewinding at just the right points for desired results. He kept doing this, fiddling with the pen while he wandered through some streets of Zootopia, keeping to the quieter parts where no mammals would bother him.

When he caught the scent of blueberries in the breeze, Nick's nose immediately went to work trying to pinpoint the source. It came from a fruit stand across the street and down a ways from where he stood, and the fox unconsciously quickened his pace to reach the cart. If there was ever a perfect time to treat himself to some blueberries, this would be it.

The vendor, an odd sheep with their wool shaved off, definitely eyed Nick with suspicion. But it seemed the sheep was one of few words, and thankfully it took little extra work to get the seller to comply when Nick requested a basket of blueberries. Said "basket" container was really just a resealable plastic container bottom, but Nick had no complaints. He got his blueberries, which is what mattered.

Since he didn't exactly feel the need to head home right away, the fox continued walking a bit, giving himself the usual update-on-the-town treatment. If he didn't know what was going on, he couldn't hustle. And what good would that make him?

The memory of Judy and her "you are so much more than that" flashed before Nick's mind, but he shrugged it off, putting more force in his step as he kept walking. As if maybe enough physical force, used in any way, could sap the memory's power. He didn't need to remember her, after all, he needed to try _not_ to remember her (even if, facing the truth, Nick really thought of her all the time). The fact that he had to tell himself this over and over again made him wonder if he really had much control of his thoughts.

Nick stopped in a quiet alleyway after a few minutes of power walking and attempting to convince himself to _forget her, forget her, forget her_ , and he decided that he deserved a little blueberry treat. Maybe the fruit could refresh his mind, reset it to something manageable enough that he didn't feel he was losing it altogether.

But the orb that he popped into his mouth was not a blueberry. It was some sour abomination that attempted to imitate a blueberry. Nick was sure of it. He _knew_ blueberries. In fact, he was a self-proclaimed expert on blueberries! Or on eating them, at least.

He spat out the first one and popped a second berry in his mouth. The initial shock wore off, and he could confirm that yes, this _thing_ was a blueberry. But it didn't _taste_ like one.

It tasted like a time in his childhood. Tasted like a time when, instead of admitting to his mother what had happened, he simply told her he wasn't going back to the Junior Ranger Scouts. Ever. Like a time when he'd subsequently refused to eat blueberries for at least a week. A time when he—

Nick refused to accept that. Tossing a couple more blueberries in his mouth, he still tasted only bitter juices. He threw in more blueberries, chewing and exploring the taste until he found the sweetness he sought. It was there. Subtle, but still there, and his deep exhale held an air of relief. He wouldn't let this become another incident like that. One that would stop him from being who he was, change his actions, change his habits.

He was Nick Wilde. And Judy's absence would not change that. He wouldn't let it.


	25. Closure

_Sometimes, what a mammal thought had ended the season was not quite the last of it. The season ends with the start of the next one, after all._

"I'm fine." Judy mumbled to her parents. They had approached her at the produce stand and seemed concerned, of course, but Judy hoped not to give her parents all the details of her return. Ever since she'd arrived, any conversation her parents initiated made her worry that they would ask for such details.

"You're not fine," Judy's mom knew, "your ears are droopy."

Judy had hoped that her huge hat would shield her ears from view, but she sighed heavily when she realized that her plan didn't work, and that talking to her parents was unavoidable. "Why did I think I could make a difference?" Her words felt heavy and forced, like nothing wanted to come out but needed to.

"Because you're a _trier_ ," Judy's dad said. "That's why."

"You've always been a trier," her mom agreed. Both were looking at her with encouragement, but the words didn't sound very promising.

"Oh, I tried," Judy stared at the short stack of newspapers in front of her, noticing only the negative headlines. "And I made life so much worse for so many innocent predators."

A passing car honked a couple times. "Oh! Not all of them, though," Judy's dad's voice contended a bit with the engine. Only the vehicle didn't pass. "Speak of the devil. Right on time!"

The van stopped right in front of the group of bunnies, and Judy looked up to see a pink delivery van. And the name on it...

"Is that..." She hesitated at first, finding it hard to believe. But the name was plain and clear. "Gideon Grey?"

"Yep! Sure is," her dad looked proud of himself when he spoke, puffing his chest out a bit. "We work with him now."

"He's our partner," Judy's mom added. She looked pleased with herself as well, and Judy found pride rising in her own chest. "And we never would have considered it had you not opened our minds."

"That's right," her dad continued. "I mean, Gid's turned into one of the top pastry chefs in the Tri-Burrows."

"That's..." Judy was at a loss for words, and for the first time in months, it was a good thing. Her parents, her very own mom and dad, who had chided her so much about working with a "dangerous" and "threatening" fox, were now working with one themselves. For her parents, that must have felt huge. Despite her mood, she was finally able to look up and smile at them. "That's really cool, you guys."

Walking around the produce stand, Judy approached the fox. She hadn't seen him since her childhood, and she'd assumed she wouldn't see him again. That he'd moved to one of the other districts or something. But there he was. The aroma of homemade pies wafted from the back of the van, through the doors he'd just opened.

"Gideon Grey," she greeted and managed a hint of a smile, though her stomach still felt heavy with guilt. She wondered if Gideon kept up with everything and knew what she'd done. "I'll be darned."

"Hey, Judy," the fox had turned to her with a hint of panic in his eyes. "I-I'd just like to say, I'm sorry for the way I-I—I behaved in my youth. I, I had a lot of self doubt," he paused to inhale, "and it manifested itself in the form of unchecked rage and aggression." After a moment, he seemed to calm down a bit. "I was a major jerk."

"Well," Judy widened her smile a bit, hoping it came off as encouraging. "I know a thing or two about being a jerk."

The next moments happened so quickly that Judy felt she could hardly keep up. One moment, Gideon was offering pies, and the next, the word "Night Howlers," along with a story about her Uncle Terry, sprung Judy's energy level out if its murky state.

"A bunny _can_ go savage..." Judy realized. She thought back to when she'd told Nick they couldn't. But why not? Of course that had been a horribly small-minded statement, and it made a lot more sense that a bunny _could_ go savage. That something other than DNA or biology was at fault. Predators weren't biologically any more harmful than prey, not this far into mammal evolution. "Night Howlers aren't wolves... they're flowers. The _flowers_ are making the predators go savage—" Judy gasped, " _That's it_! That's what I've been missing!"

For the first time in three months, she felt a strong ray of hope. How could she fix anything when she didn't know what was making predators go savage? She couldn't prove their innocence when the evidence, that they _were_ the only ones going savage, was against them. But this, this meant that she could prove predators really are safe. That _someone_ , not something, was behind it all, and she knew exactly where to start.

In her rush to the truck, Judy forgot she needed a way to actually drive it, and she spun around, shouting: "Oh— keys, keys keys keys, hurry, come on!" Her dad tossed her the keys without question, something she'd have to seriously thank him for later. "Thank you! I love you, bye!" She was in the driver's seat and on the move before any response back from her parents, Gideon, or her younger siblings.

It took a few minutes for the bunny to realize she had exceeded the speed limit by far more than an acceptable amount. As a now-civilian, she didn't care too much. She needed to get to Nick. As a cop-at-heart, she scolded herself.

But not enough to slow down very much. Once she reached Zootopia, Judy made her way to the run-down part of town where Nick once commented that he'd usually find Finnick, his business partner. Funny enough, the fox never mentioned his own usual whereabouts, but it did make a bit more sense when she realized he kept things private to keep himself safe.

Sure enough, the small fox's van was parked in an alleyway. Judy stopped nearby, hopped out of her truck, and knocked on the back doors of the van. An angry and defensive fennec emerged.

"Who is it?!" The expression softened when the fox looked down and saw Judy.

"I need to find Nick," Judy pleaded. "Please." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know what he told you, or if he said anything at all... just believe me when I say it's important."

"Y'know, helping cops ain't my style," Finnick shook his head, but he tossed his bat back onto the floor of his van before crossing his arms. "But I'll tell y' what I know."

* * *

When he caught the roar of an unfamiliar truck, Nick knew _someone_ was around. He slurped loudly at his drink in an attempt to drown it out. A dumb, futile attempt. When the engine died and a door opened and slammed shut, he smelled what couldn't have been anything other than _bunnies_. The strongest of the scents belonging to the one bunny he never thought he'd be dealing with again.

"Nick!"

He stuck his sunglasses on and closed his eyes. Maybe if he couldn't see nor hear her, he could pretend she wasn't there. This was _not_ what he'd imagined his self-granted day off of hustling would entail. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, his pulse quickened when he figured out that Judy had come looking for him. He didn't know what any of this meant, or what would come of it, and he wasn't sure he was ready to find out.

She gave him no choice.

"Oh, Nick!" She must have spotted him now, for relief was apparent in her voice, and the sound of bunny footsteps came closer and closer. "Night Howlers _aren't_ wolves," she began. "They're _toxic flowers_." Nick had kept himself from looking, but by her scent and voice, it was apparent that Judy was next to him before she finished speaking. "I think someone is targeting predators on purpose and _making_ them go savage."

As if nothing happened. "Wow," the fox stood up and took his glasses off, but he averted his gaze and walked the opposite direction. He kept his voice flat. Though he couldn't exactly say he'd expected an apology, the lack of acknowledgement about the past three months certainly brought disappointment. "Isn't that interesting?"

He'd walked a few paces without hearing any reaction, having stunned her for the moment, and he felt a lump in his throat along with an urge to curl around his tail and escape. Hide away. But he needed to stay calm, _not_ just run. Each step took a bit more energy than he remembered steps normally taking, and he almost didn't hear her when Judy called out for him to wait and bounded forward to catch up.

Those words probably could have stopped him the first time.

But regardless of whether they could have or not, they didn't happen, then. They worked now, however, and his pace slowed to a stop as he heard her continue.

"I know you'll never forgive me," she was now closer behind him, "and I don't blame you. I wouldn't forgive me either." Nick heard her take a breath. "I was ignorant, and.. irresponsible, and small-minded." Nick himself breathed in deeply. There they were. The things he'd longed to hear for _months_. "But predators shouldn't suffer because of my mistakes."

Exhaling slowly, Nick contemplated Judy's words. He had never been sure, but now he knew she _had_ been aware of the greater effects of her words. And that she regretted them.

"I have to fix this," Judy kept going, kept spewing words that grasped his heart to an alarming extent. "But I can't do it without you." He heard her voice break, and he knew what was coming. What he could hardly believe was that she thought she _needed_ his help. His paw slipped into his front pocket, where the carrot pen rested. One silent click, and the recorder was running. He didn't think before starting it.

"And after we're done," she added, "you can _hate_ me. And..." When she sobbed, Nick flinched, grasping the carrot pen more firmly. "And that'll be fine. Because I was a _horrible_ friend, and I hurt you, and you— and you can walk away knowing that you were right, _all_ along." She sniffed, managing to keep her cool enough to finish talking. "I really am just a dumb bunny."

He was left speechless while he processed everything. The fact that, after three entire months, she had returned. The fact that she apologized. That she thought he'd hate her, never forgive her, and that they'd do this one last thing, whatever she had in mind, then part ways. Frankly, that sort of thinking made some sort of fear rise in his gut. To lose her _again_? He could finally admit that he'd missed her. But there stood Judy Hopps, _right there_ , and he had a chance to fix this.

Naturally, Nick knew he needed to lighten the mood, and todothat, he knew exactly what to say. He rewound and played the carrot pen's recording at the right spot.

 _"... I really am just a dumb bunny."_ Judy was sniffling, from the crying, but halted. Hearing this, he played the recording once more. _"I really am just a dumb bunny."_

Turning to look at her for the first time, Nick couldn't prevent the smile that came to his face. There was the one he'd needed this whole time. "Don't worry, Carrots. I'll let you erase it," he promised. But he didn't want her getting off too easily. "In forty-eight hours."

The immediate drop of tension in the moment, the trust, the relief— it just may have been worth the three months of waiting.

 _With the resolution of the ending season's affairs, a mammal can look forward, without regret, at the start of the next season. But first, they must wait for its signs._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much to **PullTogether** and **ZootopiaChapters** for beta reading this chapter for me!

This is the final chapter. Thank you all _so much_ for all of your support throughout this fanfic! Some of you have been reading it since I started over a month ago, and it's incredible. I appreciate it way more than you know!

And to any new readers, I'm just as grateful to you. Thank you, to everyone, for reading this to the end!

Any comments are extremely appreciated. I'm also undecided on what I'll write next, so feel free to say what you'd like to see more of ;).

Thank you all again!

Also, an extra thank you to **PullTogether** for catching random mistakes I make. They have a couple great fanfics up as well, so check those out!

 **\- UmbraTsuki**


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